


True Meaning of Peace

by BlackVelvet42



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Fluff and Smut, NSFW Art, Porn with Feelings, Power Play, Romance, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:35:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25184920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackVelvet42/pseuds/BlackVelvet42
Summary: “You could have chosen a more obedient bride, m’lord.”
Relationships: Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway
Comments: 471
Kudos: 316
Collections: J/C Photo Prompt Fic Fest 2020





	1. I, King Chakotay, take thee, Lady Kathryn

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [Caladenia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caladenia) for the beta that was, once again, so much more than beta<3
> 
> Inspired by this fabulous manip by [MiaCooper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaCooper):
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* * *

“You could have chosen a more obedient bride, m’lord.”

Chakotay clenched his fists at the words, the signet rings on his fingers digging into his flesh. His eyes, however, remained focused on the figure making her slow travel down the aisle.

As his marshal and right hand, Ayala never shied away from telling him the cold hard truths and Chakotay rewarded him plenty for that, but the slight amusement he could hear in the man’s voice even over the chanting choir made him only want to break his nose. The heavy crown pressing into his scalp and the thick leather jacket making him sweat in the crowded church despite the cool air of early spring didn’t exactly help better his mood.

“A king doesn’t choose a bride for her obedience, but for her bloodline and the value of the union to the entire kingdom.”

He could practically hear Ayala grin. After knowing each other since childhood, growing up playing with wooden sticks as swords and fighting side by side through the Cardassian wars, he couldn’t have kept a secret from Ayala even if he had wanted. The marriage contract Chakotay had negotiated with Lady Kathryn’s guardian, the King of the Federation, was certainly a success and reinforced the independence of Trebus, but they both knew full well that the good of his people was only half the truth behind Chakotay’s decision to marry.

“Besides, every woman can be bent into submission. Lady Kathryn will not be an exception,” he added. Uninvited, Seska’s face flashed through his mind. Her sly smile mocking him, proving him wrong. 

This time, Ayala’s silence was kind.

The memory of Seska still haunted his dreams. Many years ago, she had stormed into his life and offered her mind, heart, and body to his service, her overwhelming energy and determination muting his alarms. He had been young, but still king, which made his gullibility inexcusable and the consequences a burden he had carried ever since. Because a few months after the wedding, Seska had defected back to Cardassia and sold every last piece of information she had gathered on Trebus and its defenses, her betrayal starting the bloodiest war in five generations.

No. Lady Kathryn would be nothing like his first wife. No man could be doomed with such poor luck.

But she sure was taking her sweet time to get to the altar. Not that the lords and ladies filling every row of benches seemed to mind, quite the contrary. Cocking their heads and craning their necks for a better view, they all appeared thrilled at the opportunity to marvel at the exotic creature who had arrived from over the mountains the day before, heavily guarded and veiled behind a hooded fur cape. Judging by their delighted sighs, the bride fulfilled their expectations and more, but from Chakotay’s perspective, each lingering step played like a carefully calculated insult, meant to emphasize that his soon-to-be-wife was not entering this union as the lesser, weaker party. Openly challenging him with all the composure and grace her expensive upbringing had instilled in her, in front of his court, no less.

Despite his growing annoyance, he had to admit she was a magnificent sight.

Her skin was pale as ivory, her eyes blue like the mountain sky, both a sharp contrast to her flaming red hair braided around her head like a crown. The intricate embroideries of her brocade dress matched her gold necklace and earrings, the lavish outfit completed with a meters-long train that was as impractical as it was majestic. From her white silk shoes to the tips of her elegant fingers, her appearance announced she was not only royalty but also the daughter of a king much wealthier than the one she was to wed.

Still, the greatest impact came from her poise.

Not a single trace of insecurity or modesty clouded her shine; the defiance in her eyes and the stubborn lift of her chin declaring her independence and pride. And while the corset top of her dress bound her small waist into submission and pushed her breasts on display like a foretaste of pleasures waiting for him later, everything in her screamed she would not yield to his will without a fight.

“You’re in so much trouble, m’lord.”

Like he didn’t know.

Chakotay had seen her only once, six months earlier at the Golden Gate castle where King Owen held court after the untimely death of King Edward, and where Chakotay had been unexpectedly invited. The Federation messenger had mentioned matters of mutual importance, but although the peace between the Federation and Trebus had lasted over a decade, history had taught Chakotay caution. His instincts weren’t wrong. The envoys he sent to dig up more information returned with an intriguing story to tell.

In addition to the wealthy, stable kingdom, King Owen had inherited two problems, both too beautiful, too educated, and brought up without proper discipline. As daughters of the previous ruler, with all the complications their future children could cause, they were an inconvenience the king preferred to take care of sooner rather than later. The younger one, Phoebe, was easy. By marrying her, King Owen strengthened his claim to the throne, but the older one, Kathryn, turned out quite the headache.

King Edward had died on an expedition which had also caused the death of Lady Kathryn’s fiancé. Against tradition and plain common sense, King Edward hadn’t arranged the engagement himself but had allowed his daughter to choose the man her heart desired, a man barely noble of birth. To complete the scandal, it was also largely rumored the union had been consummated long before a wedding date had even been settled. 

True or not, her reputation was irreversibly stained, her value in the eyes of proper suitors ruined, and the entire court brought to shame. To deal with the situation quickly and quietly, King Owen promised Lady Kathryn to the first vassal who showed interest in her and escorted her down the aisle in a hasty ceremony held within a fortnight of her former fiance’s funeral. Sealing the bedroom doors behind the newlywed Lord and Lady Johnson, King Owen marked the issue closed.

Or so he’d thought.

A little over a year later, Lord Johnson died in shady circumstances on a hunting trip and, once again, the rumors were far more elaborate than the official story. The marriage wasn’t a happy one, people whispered, the lady too stubborn and the lord too eager to grab the riding crop he always carried on his hip. Even though the lady had conveniently been visiting her sister in the next province at the time of the lord’s death, the widow made no attempt to hide her relief and delight of her husband’s sudden passing. And so King Owen was yet again faced with the dilemma of Lady Kathryn. Technically, she now ruled a wealthy province with one of the strongest fortresses in the kingdom, an army too big for his liking, and subjects confusingly loyal to her considering she had killed her husband, given birth to a stillborn child soon after, and, by the mere order of her king, could be ripped of her fortune in a heartbeat. Lady Kathryn was growing from an inconvenience into a threat, and since she had refused to spend the rest of her life in a convent, King Owen needed another way to get rid of her.

With the advantage of an in-depth picture, Chakotay traveled to the heart of the Federation, curious to learn what King Owen had in mind for him, and how he could use the situation to the benefit of Trebus.

In the most amiable tone, King Owen greeted Chakotay as a neighbor and an ally, almost lyrical about their numerous shared interests, leading them to a glorious future. Such a valuable relationship needed to be strengthened by the ties of marriage, he said and, skillfully hiding his predicament, offered Chakotay the hand of Lady Kathryn, the daughter of the late King Edward, recently widowed after a brief marriage, still young, fair to the eye, and proven fertile. He proposed to deliver Lady Kathryn to Trebus after the winter, along with her staff, her belongings, and two hundred men from her army. The province left to the lady after her husband’s passing would be transferred to King Owen’s son, but an annual income would be sent to the lady, or Chakotay, if he so preferred. In return, King Owen asked only that Chakotay would move a part of his troops closer to the Cardassian border, ready to act against the common enemy on King Owen’s command.

Chakotay had every reason to be suspicious. The Federation wasn’t known for its generosity, at least not without a hefty compensation. To test the theory, Chakotay bargained for two hundred men more, fifty with horses, plus the strip of land at the Federation border that was still under dispute after their last conflict, and as the king agreed, Chakotay knew he’d been played. He just wasn’t sure if King Owen’s strategic move had more to do with the threat of Cardassia or that of Lady Kathryn.

Watching her slow stride up the stairs to join him at the altar, he was beginning to lean on the latter.

In retrospect, maybe it would have been wise to gather more information about the lady herself instead of focusing on her family and background. Perhaps even spend some time with her. Because apparently, a generous deal, rumors from taverns, and a hot rush in his groin at seeing his future wife approach him weren’t enough to provide a comprehensive understanding of the marriage he was about to enter.

“You didn’t kneel and kiss the Majesty’s ring, Lady Kathryn.”

“I didn’t know I was expected to, my lord.”

How she managed to look at him down her nose when she was a head shorter than he, was an accomplishment all on its own. He gritted his teeth, the vein on his temple pulsing.

“You may be my bride, Lady Kathryn, but you are not the Queen of Trebus. Not yet,” he growled. “You’re far away from your people and your comfortable, guarded life. Until I decide whether you please me enough to allow your coronation, you’re nothing but my servant. For your own good, I suggest you start acting like one.”

Without so much as blinking, she tilted her head to the side and met his warning with a vague interest.

“Tell me, Your Highness, do you often feel the need to state the obvious?”

The choir had finished its hymn, but Chakotay barely noticed. Struck speechless by her calm insolence, he could only stare at her, the full extent of her insult seeping through him. In the silence, the rustle and coughs of the crowd echoed from the stone walls as the chaplain prepared to begin the ceremony.

All through the mass, they stood unmoving, eyes locked in a silent battle for power and control. A war fought before God, neither one giving in an inch.

No, she was nothing like Seska, but she was trouble all the same. Challenging him, confronting him. Lacking any of the respect she should have shown him. Lacking fear.

Eventually, the chaplain stepped to them.

“Do you, King Chakotay, take Lady Kathryn to be your lawfully wedded wife…”

The seconds Chakotay delayed his reply finally brought a crack to her armor. A shadow of annoyance creased her brow. 

His mouth curled up in a victorious grin. “I do.”

When the same question wasn’t asked of her, she appeared even more irritated. And confused. Clearly, the royal wedding vows were done differently in the Federation, but here, she had already given her consent when she’d walked down the aisle. No one had forced her. At least not Chakotay.

He picked the golden ring a nervous young page offered on a black velvet pillow and gripped Kathryn’s small hand, relishing the feel of her fragile bones bending under his hold.

With so little, she had managed to crawl under his skin, everything about her bringing his blood to a boil. Her Federation grandeur in his humble church. Her femininity armed with arrogance. Her open opposition undermining his command, reminding him of past mistakes he feared he was repeating all over again. Whatever the exact reason, he needed to break her icy exterior and see her yield. Needed her to acknowledge his power.

With one sharp thrust, he pressed the ring on her finger and witnessed her expression shift to contempt and distaste.

Good.

A ring was offered to her too and she took it, the wide golden band large and crude in her slender fingers. Returning the favor, she dug her well-trimmed nails into his palm and held them in his flesh as she slid the ring to his finger, looking up from beneath her lashes for his reaction.

He gave her none.

“So this is how it’s going to be?” he asked over the chaplain’s amens closing the ceremony.

She studied him, eyes hard and cold, then leaned near and spoke to him, voice heavy with restrained fury.

“I may be your wife, my lord, but I am not your slave. Make me the queen or not, but I will not bow before you or kiss your goddamn ring. And until you prove your worth to me, I suggest you watch out. If you hurt me or any of my people, I swear I won’t just be after your life. I will wait for as long as it takes and when the moment comes, I will gut you like a pig, cut off that piece of meat you call your manhood, and watch you bleed to death.”

A chill ran down his spine, freezing his blood. Had this been the fate of her deceased husband?

“But,” she continued and stood up straight again, radiating an aura of authority he hadn’t noticed before, “treat me and my subjects well, and I’ll be the wife you expect and the queen your people deserve. From what I’ve learned, your experiences so far have been… poor. Who knows, maybe this time we both might find something resembling peace.”

Dear God, what a woman you gave me.

“That’s quite the wedding vow,” he said, grateful for the swiftness with which he managed to regain his composure. “Traditionally, you’re supposed to pledge your husband and king your unconditional and eternal obedience, loyalty, and service.”

Not a muscle flinched on her face. “Well, I’m not a traditional woman.”

“No, you most certainly are not,” he agreed, measuring her from head to toe and up again, devouring every fiery inch of her.

The guests were waiting for them, the choir reaching the high point when they were supposed to turn and greet the court as husband and wife, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

“You’re stunning, Kathryn,” he whispered, voice raw and groin tight. “I can’t wait to have you screaming in my bed tonight.”

* * *


	2. To be my wedded wife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More amazing manips for your pleasure. This beauty was created by [carter-sg-1.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areneth/pseuds/carter-sg-1)
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* * *

The longer the reception dinner stretched, the more Chakotay questioned his sanity. No amount of wine seemed to help. Sitting at the high table with Kathryn, watching the festivities go on and on while fantasies of the night ahead swirled in his intoxicated brain, he couldn’t understand what lunatic moment had made him agree to B’Elanna’s suggestion of an evening-length feast – Maquis style. 

Granted, she was B’Elanna, persuasive when she had an opinion, persistent to see her ideas through. And he couldn’t remember her advice ever failing. As the head steward of his household, she kept everything in order from his servants to his finances, and, as a result, had a thorough insight to the moods and needs of his staff. And the people outside the walls of the castle too. 

Her arguments had been solid. The series of conflicts at the Cardassian border and the unusually harsh winter had left people in need of uplifting. A royal wedding fitted the purpose perfectly, but with the disastrous marriage to Seska still fresh in memory, the celebrations had to be different, enough to convince everyone that the past mistakes would not be repeated. Besides, everyone was burning to have a good look at the woman who would one day become their queen. If they weren’t invited to a proper reception, every lord and lady would insist on a separate audience under whatever excuse.

“Unless you’re planning to marry a third time,” she had said with a smirk, “there’s no need to hold back. You’re the leader of Trebus. She’s the daughter of the Federation. There won’t be another event like this in anyone’s lifetime.”

Yes. She certainly knew how to argue her point.

So he had given B’Elanna the freedom to organize the festivities however she saw fit. Over the months, he had been offered only pieces of information here and there, additions to the invitation list, mentions of unforeseen expenses, the extent of her plans gradually revealed at the accumulating bills in his account books. Not only had she arranged a carnival in town with music, games, and a thousand white doves freed at sunset, and barrels of ale delivered to the garrison, but she had also spent what seemed like a year’s worth of taxes on a sumptuous banquet held for the nobles who, from his perspective, didn’t need any uplifting whatsoever. 

Dressed in their finest, drunk probably since morning, the guests had been loud and cheerful the moment they had entered the great hall and taken their seats at the long tables and benches lined on both sides of the room. And the more dishes and drinks were carried before them, the merrier they got.

The injustice hammered hard with every beat of his heart.

Like any fresh husband, he just wanted to fuck his new wife. Fuck her soft body and mark it as his, fuck her arrogance into submission, fuck her so long and hard that she would never again threaten him in a way that simultaneously made his cock swell rock-hard and his balls shrink in terror. Threats he had no doubt she could and would execute if needed. But instead of exercising his marital rights, he was trapped at his own wedding reception because the Maquis code of honor stated that the head of the house was never to abandon his guests.

To make matters worse, everyone seemed to want something from him. No sooner had the ale pitchers, bread bowl soups, and trays of fruits been served than the first brave landlord approached the dais. Chakotay braced himself and took a hefty swig from his wine. Armed with gifts, congratulations, and painfully transparent flattery, all designed to soften the ground for their agenda, they came to him eager to push for favors, calculating that getting married would make their ruler more amenable for their requests than usual. 

The evening was a nightmare in the making.

Amid all the hassle, Kathryn had remained mostly quiet, her true thoughts, whatever they were, carefully veiled by the impassive mask he had begun to recognize. 

After the ceremony, she had followed his lead out of the church, the guests abiding at a respectful distance. She had taken one glance at the muddy yard and, in the absence of anyone to help her and Chakotay only shrugging before marching forward, she had gathered the hem of her expensive dress and hurried to catch up with him. At first, she had trailed half a step behind him but before they had crossed the courtyard, she was already walking side by side with him. Inside the great hall, she had strode to the far end of the room with confidence, stepped up to the dais, and taken her seat next to him at the high table as if she was born to do so.

Chakotay tried not to look like he was observing. Even more, he tried to hide his contentment in what he saw. 

With all the composure he could have expected of her, she sipped her wine as the colorful guests poured in, and waited patiently to be served. She accepted both the noisy chattering and laughter and the unabashed, often blatant gazes thrown her way without so much as a frown. Never once did she show disdain for the food his kitchen maids had clearly taken their time to prepare or the entertainment and surroundings that must have appeared modest compared to the luxury she had grown accustomed to in the Federation.

But even though the fire in her was temporarily hidden behind a wall, her grace didn’t extend to him. Whenever he looked at her, he met a blank face and a flawless poise, his few attempts at conversation drying up quickly to her curt replies. 

He sighed deeply and reached for his cup.

The delicious view down her cleavage significantly improved his evening though. His heart beat faster at her mere closeness, but watching her breasts rise and fall in rhythm with her breathing made his mouth water. So creamy, so soft. As if to wreck his concentration for good, a single strand of hair had escaped from her braiding, curled down the side of her neck, and disappeared between her breasts, precisely where he intended to bury his face before the day was over. Untying her corset and undressing her would be a pleasure beyond this world. And her hair needed to come down, just so he could thread his fingers through the silken tresses as he pushed his hard length between her thighs.

Damn B’Elanna. And damn the whole court. 

Chakotay finished his goblet and waved the servant for more.

Despite the need pulsing in his groin and the drunken haze engulfing his mind, he gradually started to notice other things that caught his attention as well. Something more than royal composure. Something he hadn’t expected of her.

Whenever he wasn’t openly looking at her, a different person emerged from beneath her cold, indifferent exterior. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw her gaze repeatedly scanning the room, studying everything from the large windows and fireplaces to the murals and coats of arms decorating the walls and the stone vault high above. She paused to listen to every song and watch every performance, both the adequate and the intolerable with equal interest. She tried every dish that was placed before her, took some wine to cover the taste she didn’t like and nodded to herself in appreciation at the kind she did. And when the next person came to their table with their gifts and their requests, she set down her glass and listened.

He could have dismissed his observations as a result of her upbringing, a well-rehearsed act or the politeness of a lady. But the further the evening proceeded, the more her behavior began to remind him of genuine curiosity, a trait that couldn’t be taught but that some people, noble or peasant, were born with. A trait he had always respected.

Kathryn was educated, but what did she really know of Trebus? His small kingdom wasn’t exactly notable in any way, only a narrow piece of land, squeezed between two rivaling forces in endless war. Sheltered by the snow-capped mountains, Trebus was usually considered too difficult to reach and too insignificant to deserve more than a half-hearted attempt at conquest or sabotage, even if it was a former province of the Federation and some still harbored the idea that the countries should once again be joined. Consequently, not much was known of the secluded realm.

Rumors, however, had spread far beyond their borders. In stories that seemed to grow more outrageous with each generation telling them, the Maquis were often described as disorderly groups of rebels and savages, scattered around their barren lands, leading the life of nomads, barely surviving the cruel winters and robbing travelers for gold and goods. Chakotay didn’t mind the reputation. Every invasion in history had been defeated because their defenses and army had been underestimated, even the one Seska had started. On the other hand, some of those assumptions were actually true.

Putting himself in Kathryn’s place and looking around the great hall through the eyes of an outsider, he could understand her curiosity. The incongruity between rumors and reality was striking. Although his castle was modest and a little worn, lacking the splendor of her father’s house, it carried a feel of safety and permanence, of home. At least to his view. And his subjects, well, they certainly were an interesting pack. Compared with the Federation, many of the nobles had risen to their positions because of merit, not blood, and were a bit rough around the edges, but hardly savages. Due to its reputation, Trebus had also attracted its fair share of adventurers over the decades, each traveler adding their unique skills and traditions to the richness of the kingdom. Some had risen in the ranks and some, like B’Elanna, had eventually become a part of his trusted circle.

Governing such a diverse, strong-willed people was a challenge, but the open audiences he regularly attended - even if he would have preferred not to turn his wedding into one - was one means to rein in problems while they were still minor and easily handled. 

The issues his guests brought to him were mostly the same as always, the pleas maybe a little more daring because of the celebration. Hunting rights, trading privileges, marriage permissions, taxing reliefs, disagreements between families. But with Kathryn by his side, he couldn’t shake the disturbing feeling that she was constantly evaluating him. For what exactly, he didn’t know, but as the hours crawled by, the feeling of being under surveillance, his every word and decision weighed with an invisible scale and judged by unspoken criteria, irritated him more and more. After an indefinite amount of drinks, dishes, performances, and requests all blurring together into a stream of never-ending torment, he finally snapped.

The unfortunate target of his fury was a farmer from another village, allowed to meet the king as a sign of goodwill, but so anxious and fearful that his clumsy speech came out a barely audible mess.

“I’ve traveled a long way, m’lord, to… to speak of my son,” the man began, kneading his hat in his strong, calloused hands. “He’s a good lad, smart and obedient, quick to learn, that one. But you see, he don’t want to till the earth like his father. No Sir, he wants to serve the king and train to be a knight. M’lord, if there would be a place for him-”

Chakotay liked to think he was a patient man. A tolerant, temperate man. But the day had carved away every layer of that calm, ultimately baring his breaking point.

“Enough!” he roared, slamming his fist on the table and rising from his chair, surprised to find the world spinning, the floor unstable.

The room fell silent.

“I’ve heard enough! I’m done for the night, not a single request more. I need my farmers in the fields, my soldiers in the barracks, and, at last, my wife in my goddamn bed!”

With the entire crowd bursting into laughter and cheers, he lifted his glass and emptied it in one go, everyone following suit, stomping their feet, shouting their support. 

All except one.

Swaying where he stood at the motion too fast for his inebriated head, he turned to Kathryn and found her staring him with an expression he couldn’t quite define. Contempt, pity, but also something like… plain disappointment.

The very next second, the mask of indifference fell back to place on her flawless features. She returned to her meal, making no indication that she would be leaving with him, and the frustrated anger he thought he’d left behind in the church flared up again.

He leaned closer, palms flat on the wooden surface for support, and hissed in a voice rough with lust. “Kathryn, if you want to walk out of this room with your dignity intact instead of being carried over my shoulder with your dress hitched up to your ears, I suggest you get up now.”

Looking at him straight in the eyes, she reached between her breasts and draw out a knife from the valley where it had been hidden. With a swift move, she stabbed the piece of meat on her plate, the blade cutting dangerously close to where he had planted his hand. Then she brought the half-bloody chunk to her lips, ripped off a bite, and wiped the trail of grease and blood from her chin with the back of her hand.

“I’ll come to you when I’m done.”

Too shocked to speak, too furious to stay, and too drunk to actually fulfill his threat, he stormed out, glass in hand and growling to Ayala as he strode by, loud enough for her to hear.

“Make sure she’s in my bedroom before I finish my wine, properly silenced, and ready to spread her legs. If I have to come back searching for her, I’ll take her on this table.”

* * *


	3. To have and to hold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another treasure from [carter-sg-1.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areneth/pseuds/carter-sg-1)
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* * *

Chakotay paced his chamber, the heavy crown and thick jacket lying abandoned on the floor, but his wife nowhere to be seen.

As soon as he had staggered up the steep stairs and closed the door behind him, the racket from the great hall blissfully muffled, he knew he had made the right choice. He really had needed to get out, and not just because of his impatience and rising temper. Holding an audience and making decisions with a muddled head wasn’t wise by any measure and had he gotten any drunker he might have failed in his primary duty - to bed his wife.

Leaving the reception without her had been humiliating, to say the least, but he only had himself to blame. With a sober mind, handling her would not have been a problem. How was he to know she carried a knife in her bosom? At her own wedding, no less? She had managed to catch him completely unguarded, but she would not do it twice. Once Ayala had disarmed her and brought her to him, he would make sure she understood her place.

Finally, he heard faint voices in the corridor.

“What the hell took you so long, Ayala?”

Muttering an apology, the man held the door for Kathryn to enter, then extended his hand, palm up, waiting. When she relinquished her knife, Ayala retreated, bidding them a good night. 

“Oh, don’t yell at him. He seems like a competent officer. Most chivalrous.”

 _Unlike some_ , he could almost hear her add, the familiar bite in her tone drawing Chakotay’s attention back to his wife. Kathryn’s voice was casual and her moves relaxed, but the way she took only a few steps further inside, her gaze scanning the room and Chakotay, revealed she was anything but.

He was beyond caring.

“You’re late,” he growled and walked to her, his frustration once again channeling into more harshness than he had intended.

For God’s sake, he had only wanted to get married. Fulfill his responsibility to his kingdom with a beneficial treaty, a capable queen, and a healthy heir, and take his pleasure in the process. Not to turn his home into a bloody war zone.

He gripped her elbow and pulled her to him, but in a flash, as if emerging from thin air, a blade was pressed against his throat.

“Do not fucking touch me.”

Frozen on his tracks, a wave of ice flooding his veins, he swallowed against the sharp edge. Her low voice seethed with fury, but when he looked down at her, the blue-grey of her eyes was clouded with fear, like an animal trapped without escape. A deadly combination. Every inch of her was drawn tight as a string, every muscle trembling, ready to defend herself against a threat that was as real to her as the cold metal on his throat.

Ever so slowly, he released her arm and took a deliberately calm, long breath, hoping to bring down the tension and maybe, just maybe, live to take another breath. As if snapped out of a trance, she blinked and stepped back, holding the dagger to her chest, knuckles white. For one fleeting moment, she appeared disoriented, but the very next second the mask of confidence was back in place.

Chakotay didn’t say anything, only regarded her, the adrenaline rush sharpening his senses through the drunken haze. Then he turned and slumped to his armchair by the fireplace, reaching for his wine glass for a sorely needed drink. But the liquid had lost its taste.

He wasn’t blind or stupid. Even if the look in her eyes had been visible only for the briefest of moments, he recognized it well. He’d witnessed it many times on the faces of men and women, broken by war and violence too much for their souls to bear. Horrors replayed in their mind without control or consent. And he couldn’t help but wonder what darkness she had experienced to carry those shadows within her.

“Help yourself,” he said and nodded to the side table with decorated glasses and an assortment of carafes, more or less emptied of their colorful contents.

She eyed him suspiciously and didn’t move.

“Go, have a drink. Lord knows you need it. Lord knows I need some too,” he prompted and took another mouthful.

Keeping him in her sight, Kathryn placed the dagger on the table and poured herself half a glass, then crossed the room to the window, the farthest she could get from him.

Chakotay let out a snort. She had surrendered the blade on purpose. “You have more hidden somewhere, don’t you?”

“More what?” she asked but, somehow, she didn’t look quite as insecure as a while ago.

He gave her a firm stare.

“Naturally,” she confirmed then, the corner of her mouth curling up a bit. “I told you I was prepared to protect myself.”

“Don’t worry. I have very little interest in forcing myself on you.”

Her laugh was dark and bitter. “Really? That’s not what I heard from you at the reception. Or at the chapel.”

Their earlier verbal battle and his rather hostile stance appearing to him in a whole new light, Chakotay rubbed his forehead at the mess he had, in part, created.

“That was when I thought you were a wild horse, a delightful challenge to tame, not a… damn powder keg.”

He wanted to say, ‘a wounded soul’, but knowing her pride, he thought better of it.

The silence that followed wasn’t as heavy as Chakotay anticipated, the air between them somehow cleared after everything said and done. He watched her sip her drink and gave her the time she needed to regain her balance, his own pulse gradually slowing and the sharp pain on his neck fading into a dull ache, the trickle of blood drying on his skin. Not quite how he had pictured their wedding night.

But if they weren’t going to bed, they might as well talk. She was his wife, after all. 

“So, your husband wasn’t very nice to you,” he blurted, the connection between her short marriage and her instinctive reaction to his aggression fairly easy to make.

If his bluntness surprised her, she didn’t let it show. “No, he wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” he simply said, earning himself a glare. Disapproving of his frankness, maybe? Or the compassion she misread as pity?

She swirled the glass in her hand, staring into its depths, drifting away from him again. Just when he thought the conversation would end before it had begun like all the earlier attempts in the great hall, she let out a sigh and continued. “He was especially fond of his riding crop.”

So, the rumors were true.

“And leather belts he used to tie me down.”

Now it was Chakotay’s turn to fall silent. He had expected biting sarcasm, cold politeness at best. Not honesty.

Why she was telling these things to him, a man who had done nothing to make her feel safe or welcome, he didn’t understand, but her openness stirred something inside him. A heaviness in his chest he refused to study more closely. No one would ever mistake her for weak, but she was small, vulnerable despite her hard exterior; feeling, hurting, even if she had walls thick as a fortress around her to hide the pain. To think that anyone would want to do to her the things she had described–

He shook his head, this time keeping his sympathy to himself. 

“Your first fiancé was better, I gather?”

There was a hint of softness in her voice when she answered. “Yes. Justin was a good man. He was…” 

A pause. To consider what to say, to will away an emotion, he didn’t know. 

“I loved him.”

The plain words gripped him with unexpected force.

Telling himself it was the wine and the long day, he fought the sudden tightness around his chest, but the images pushed through regardless of his resistance. Images from the past, of golden hair and bright blue eyes, of a smile he would have pledged his entire life to protect. Of a girl wed to another only to die nine months later giving birth to her son.

The memory rushed over him, then subsided, leaving behind a familiar emptiness. To shake off the sensation, he got up to fetch another drink.

“There’s one for each,” he muttered under his breath as he filled the glass.

“Excuse me?”

“Something my aunt used to say. ‘There’s one for each. One life, one dream, one moment a heart can be broken, but only one and never another.’”

“Sounds like your aunt didn’t believe in second chances.”

“I think it was her way to comfort me after... Never mind. She may have had a point.”

Kathryn didn’t respond. Sitting on the wide windowsill, gazing at the sun setting behind the mountains, she seemed relaxed, sunken in her thoughts. And once again, he found he couldn’t divert his eyes from her. She really was stunning, her profile a dark beauty painted against ruby skies. High cheekbones, stubborn chin. Narrow shoulders holding more weight than he had realized.

“It was quite a risk for you to come to a foreign land and marry the king of thieves and murderers,” he probed, hoping the fragile beginning of conversation would carry further. After everything he had learned of this woman and her background, he was curious to hear her side of the story.

“My opinion wasn’t exactly asked, if that’s what you want to know. My choices were either you or the convent, and I wasn’t born to devote my life to prayer. You seemed safe enough so I didn’t fight the king’s decision.”

Her lips curled into a crooked smile at his surprise.

“What? You think I wouldn’t have found a way to escape this marriage had I really wanted to? I’m a woman of great wealth and power, if you didn’t know. I have, well, had, an army and servants both loyal and resourceful.”

He wasn’t any wiser, only more intrigued. “Then why leave? Was the temptation of my mighty kingdom and luxurious palace too much to resist?”

As if realizing she had spoken too much, she turned to look out of the window again. “I have my reasons.”

Her subtle insecurity was captivating, these glimpses of her true self feeding his fascination.

“Fine. Let me put it differently. While I was visiting your fair homeland, some very interesting rumors were brought to my attention. Rumors that you had long been a thorn in King Owen’s side and after so skillfully sending your husband to an early grave, he was determined to get rid of you, whatever the cost.”

“You knew about that?”

“Of course.”

“And you still wanted to marry me?”

“Absolutely. I like a woman to have a little spark beneath a pretty surface. Besides, from what you told me, he did have it coming.” He grinned at her disbelief. “But back to the risk you were willing to take.”

She shrugged. “I did some research too.”

He couldn’t decide if he should be flattered or offended. She’d been offered the hand of a king, but instead of immediately accepting, she had taken time to deliberate. “And what was this crucial piece of information that reassured you?”

“You helped a girl.”

He frowned, without a single clue what she was talking about. “A what? When?”

“About five weeks before you travelled. You were returning from an inspection near the border gone wrong, your group ambushed, and several men injured in the confrontation. It was late and you needed to get to the nearest garrison fast, but you heard a young girl crying in the forest. You stopped and ordered Ayala to lead the wounded back while you saw the girl safely home.”

Too many warnings going off in his head, he couldn’t find a thing to say.

First, the information she possessed was too detailed for his liking. If she knew this, she either had to have scouts capable of moving undetected across kilometers on foreign grounds – or she had a spy among his men.

Second, for a minor incident like this to tip the scale in his favor, for her to think that helping a lost child revealed something important about his character, so important that she felt safe enough to marry him… she had to be simple or naïve, and he didn’t want her to turn out either.

Third, –

Well, the third point had something to do with the odd five weeks timeline she had mentioned, but the vague concern was buried somewhere under awe, admiration, and a growing sense that the woman he had chosen might prove to be more than he could handle.

More than he could have ever hoped for.

“Oh, please, my lord. Don’t look so shocked. Did you truly believe King Owen was so soft that you could just march into the heart of his kingdom with a handful of dark and dangerous men, demand that he doubled the already generous price you were offered, and that he would accept, without so much as claiming your land and loyalty in exchange? Or your head for that audacity? By then, I had done months of groundwork to push him in that direction.”

From a distance, he could hear the quickening beat of his heart.

“And why is that?” he asked, mouth dry.

“Because there was nothing left for me in the Federation. Only a king who would have confiscated my lands and married me to someone even worse than lord Johnson. After a year in hell, I swore to myself I would never again submit to the will of any man. Never. I want to be in control of my own fate. And from all I’ve learned, you and Trebus are my best chance.”

* * *


	4. From this day forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this delightfully juicy pic by [Torri012.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torri012)
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Kathryn tipped back the last of her wine and slid down from the windowsill. The sun had set, leaving the room bathed in shadows. In the dim, flickering light of the fireplace, Chakotay couldn’t see her face clearly, but her shoulders carried a certainty and her steps a determination, signs of a woman with a plan and a goal.

She headed to the side table, reaching under her sleeve as she walked. Keeping a close eye on her, his suspicions were confirmed as she pulled out a knife and placed it on the surface. Then she snuck her fingers beneath her waistband and draw yet another blade from the crease.

The woman really did not make empty threats.

The fact that neither he nor Ayala had thought of checking whether she had more weapons hidden before allowing her into the king’s chamber was too ridiculous to even consider. With that arsenal and his state of drunkenness, gutting him would have been easy as hooking a worm. Still, here he was, alive and well, and relatively sure she didn’t pose any danger to him. Not yet, anyway.

Chakotay shifted on his seat, wondering about the changes in her mood. In less than a day, he had seen her move from defiant to hostile, terrified to somber, a spectrum of emotions finally leading to this decisiveness. Each had been a window to her soul, easily misunderstood separately, but, put together, they were gradually beginning to form a fuller picture, unraveling the mystery Kathryn was to him. Deep down, he suspected the picture was far from complete and his hunch was immediately proven correct.

Without a trace of modesty or shyness, she lifted her foot on the bench and hitched up the hem of her dress. His attention sharpened. Bending over to undo the straps of her shoes, she gifted him a full view not only of her cleavage but also of a shapely calf veiled in a white silk stocking and a whisper of bare skin above the garter. Despite the daggers she detached from her ankle and thigh and set beside the others, or maybe precisely because of that, his pulse rose to a hopeful excitement. Then again, their short time together had taught him not to take anything for granted.

“What are you doing?”

She kicked off her shoes and began to peel down her stocking, baring more creamy skin for his view.

“Undressing. It is our wedding night, after all.”

Yes. Finally. Primed and ready at the mere hint, he set down his glass and pulled off his shirt, but before he had a chance to get up, she was pointing a knife at him.

“No,” she said firmly. “Sit. And do not talk.”

He leaned back in his chair and inhaled deep. An order. From her. Setting the rules and denying him what was his by right. When exactly had their roles reversed? Not that he was necessarily opposed to her taking the lead, quite the contrary. The authority in her voice added to the flow of blood to his groin, kindling a flame that would blaze only if he yielded.

Watching her take off her necklace and earrings, her earlier words echoed in his mind.

She had said she wanted to be in control of her own fate, that she would not submit to him or anyone. Beneath his more urgent needs, if he was honest, he wishes weren’t that different. He had hoped for a wife strong enough to challenge him, a queen powerful enough to rule on her own right, without the need to have him constantly by her side. To witness her take command on a moment when she was only expected to lay on her back was a magnificent promise of that future and although he itched to undress her himself, reveal every inch of her perfect skin however fast or slow he preferred, he was also intrigued to see the possibilities of their future uncovered.

Nothing good comes easy, they say.

Without hurry, she undid the complicated ties and lacings of her dress, watching him watching her, his restlessness growing. Each layer of clothing she removed was a tease, each piece she dropped to the floor a test to his patience, but when she was down to her white chemise, he had to remind himself how to breathe.

The undershirt was nothing but a thin veil of mist; the transparent material, wide neckline, and short hem leaving little to the imagination. The roundness of her breasts was clearly defined, her hardened nipples so palpable he could almost feel them against his tongue. And when she reached up to unbraid her hair, the dark shade at the junction of her thighs hit his consciousness like thunder.

If she had chosen the garment on purpose, knowing how enticing she would look wearing it, she didn’t let it show.

Her nimble fingers worked on her hair, releasing one long, curly strand after another, the task giving plenty of time for his hunger to grow. He made no attempt to hide the bulge in his pants or the fever in his eyes. If she wanted to tease, fine, but he’d be damned if she didn’t know she was playing with fire. Once she had abandoned the knives on the table, he could have just grabbed her, throw her on the bed, spread her legs, and bury himself into her heat, and do her over and over again until dawn. Easily. And the temptation was so very real.

But when her flaming red hair cascaded freely over her shoulders and breasts, all the way to her waist, and she let the chemise slide down her body leaving her naked as the day she was born, he thanked the Lord above that he had waited.

A goddess, that’s what she was. Escaped from a painting or a dream or heaven itself. 

“You’re beautiful, Kathryn,” he managed to whisper around a sudden tightness in his throat.

For a moment, she only stood, undecided. Her plan, whatever it was, temporarily interrupted. Then she shook her head, reached up to her hair, and pulled out the last golden ornament: a pin that came with a spike long enough to stab a man’s heart. Only this one she didn’t set on the table.

A goddess – or the devil herself. He would gladly have both.

“Undo your pants.”

Another command, harsh and blunt, gripping the pit of his stomach in raw desire as he hastened to obey.

Giving his fully engorged cock a brief, unimpressed glance, she walked to him, hips swaying and breasts bouncing, and when she stood before him, she placed the spike under his chin and lifted his stare from her chest.

“I’m not a virgin so don’t expect me to blush or bleed,” she said dryly, then trailed the metal down his throat and chest, pausing at the exact spot where his heart pounded with the force of cannon fire. “But I still expect you to behave.”

He didn’t dare to speak or move. Not because the sharp tip had scraped his skin and was now pressed into his flesh, no doubt drawing blood, but because as surely as he felt his own arousal pulsing throughout his body, he saw that she was aroused too. Only hers was much more complex, born from a longing deeper than lust, twined to the power she held over him.

A slight flush had appeared on her cheeks, a heated glimmer in her eyes. No matter how hard she tried to hide her state, holding the keys to both his pleasure and his life excited her beyond measure, and witnessing her relish that dominance fueled his own passion in return. Keeping her gaze locked with his and the spike firmly on his chest, she straddled his lap, positioned him at her opening, and, biting her bottom lip in anticipation, lowered herself on his length.

The sensations rushed through him like a tide. Sinking into her warm, velvet depths, her strong legs around him, her scent blurring his reason, and her quickening breath echoing his own, he was swept into a world of bliss.

She was water, she was air. She was summer after a long winter and light in never-ending darkness. He wanted nothing more than to drown in her forever, and when she lifted her hips and sank back down, taking him deeper into her body, he let his head fall back and moaned in surrender.

Through the haze, he was aware she was observing him. His desperate gasps as she moved with more force, his pained expressions and his grip on the sides of his chair, holding on not to come yet. But lost in ecstasy, devouring her curves and aching to touch her, all of her, he couldn’t focus enough to care.

As if reading his thoughts, she slowed her pace. With a look that seemed almost understanding, she took his hand and pressed his palm on her breast. He stared at the sight in a trance. Her small hand covering his larger one, his fingers cupping her, stroking her, rolling her nipple, and digging into her soft, pale flesh. Tempting his fate, he ran another hand up her back and into the tresses that were as silky as he had imagined, but when she resumed her moves, the sensations were suddenly too much and the pleasure surging from where they were joined shattered his restraint into nothingness.

“I need to have you. Now,” he growled.

Caught in an avalanche of primal need, he wrapped an arm tightly around her waist and locked her body to his. Sheathed inside her, he stood up, took the few steps to his bed, and fell on the mattress, crushing her under his weight. He could hear the air rush from her lungs and felt her stiffen, but burning with lust, his mind narrowed to one goal only, he pinned her wrists above her head, pushed her legs apart, and thrust into her with everything he had.

He came within seconds. In a blind frenzy, he thrust once, twice more, his moans breaking into a choked grunt as the unbearable pressure in his groin erupted in a heavenly flood that left him laying on her trembling and out of breath.

No sooner had his peak passed than the reality came crashing back, turning the divine throbbing into nausea and disgust.

He raised his head to look at her. Gone was the woman who had moved on top of him, eyes intense and lips parted, empowered by her freedom and control over him. The contrast to the woman lying under him, expressionless eyes cast to the ceiling, wrenched his stomach. In her hand, she clutched the spike, her only defense. How little use that had been to her.

He slid out, released her wrists, and eased off her.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, instantly regretting the question that was just another insult, another mistake in a day he had failed from the very beginning.

Of course he had hurt her. If not with a whip or his roughness, then by ignoring her needs, using his strength to take what he wanted regardless of her wishes.

“You did nothing I hadn’t prepared myself for,” came her reply, cold and distant. Always strong, always the survivor. Forever out of his reach.

If only he could turn back time and start all over again, he would do everything differently. From the moment their eyes had met in the chapel, they had taken the wrong path, locking themselves on opposite sides of a war that shouldn’t have been a war to begin with, but a journey they would travel, side by side, together. After everything he had said and done, how was any of that salvable? How could he ever convince her that he wasn’t this man; cruel and violent, putting his own needs before hers, when his every action proved he was exactly that and nothing more?

No words would ever be enough, no explanation or promise but a weak excuse and a pathetic attempt to justify the unjustifiable. Instead, he would have to show her, starting now. And if, by some miracle, he was still alive at dawn, he would continue tomorrow, proving himself and earning her trust, every day for as long as he lived.

He closed his fingers around her hand holding the spike, brought the metal to his lips and kissed it, then pressed the tip against his heart.

“Keep it. For as long as you feel you need to, Kathryn, until you’re ready to let it go.”

He had no idea if she would enjoy what he was planning to do. No idea if she would even let him get that far. For all he knew, she could simply stab him in the back of his head and he would probably deserve that end too. But he needed to try and so he descended lower, down over her breasts he wasn’t worthy of touching, over her belly he hoped one day would carry his child, and settled between her thighs.

“What are you doing?”

Lips pursed, brows set in a frown, she made her disapproval known, but true to her nature, her eyes peeked down at him with curiosity.

“Apologizing. If you let me,” he said, forcing a confidence into his voice but in his heart sending out a prayer that he was even remotely as good as he’d been told. Otherwise, he was doomed.

His breath at her core made her shiver, an encouraging sign, he decided, but at the touch of his tongue, she went completely still. In the most nerve-wracking manner, she lay unmoving as he traced her delicate folds, dipped inside her opening, and lapped her from bottom to top, allowing him to proceed but giving no indication if what he did pleased her. It wasn’t until a suffocated gasp escaped her throat as he sucked her tiny jewel he knew was the focal point of her pleasure that he realized she was holding back. With all her might. 

Hiding her face under a pillow and hugging it with both arms, she seemed determined to stay in control, refusing to let him see the effect he had on her. She couldn’t, however, control her body. With each stroke, her legs quivered a bit more, her soft flesh swelling and pulsing, and when a gush of her arousal spilled on his tongue, he doubled his efforts knowing she was close to the edge.

She reached her peak in a brilliant flash – and absolute silence. One second she was tensed tight as a string, trembling so hard he was about to come himself, the next her thighs clamped around his head and her whole body shuddered in endless waves, the aftershocks running through her like lightning.

He’d never been so proud of himself in his life.

Gradually, her breathing evened and her muscles relaxed. He wondered what she would do, if she would be angry or ashamed or push him away, but when she didn’t move, neither did he. Savoring her peaceful afterglow, he brushed her thighs, trailing slowly down to her ankle and up again, daring light kisses on her smooth skin. And as his caresses eventually stirred in her a restlessness he well understood, he returned to her core, starting again with the wealth of information he had gathered on the first round.

This time, she was far from still, silent, or controlled.

He slid his finger inside her and her legs fell further apart. He wrapped his lips around her sex and she tensed in anticipation. And when he gently teased her nub with a twirl of his tongue, she threw the pillow away from her face and thread her fingers into his hair, keeping him near, demanding his service.

A triumph thundered in his chest.

Without her restraint, reading the signals of her body and chasing the next sigh from her lips was so much easier. His fingers within her and his other hand on her belly, he could feel the tension in her building, her muscles struggling toward a release. Round after firm round, his tongue circled the tip of her, steadily picking up speed and intensity, his mouth soon turning her sighs into moans and her passion to a boil, ready to spill over. One last lick and another to be sure, and her back arched from the bed, the spike she had held falling to the floor as she gripped his hair with both hands, screaming her pleasure, her body quaking in a rush of ecstasy.

Easing off the sensitive skin, he lifted his head and looked at her.

Splayed on his sheets, eyes closed and mouth open, chest heaving and a tear running down her cheek, she was the reflection of bliss, the sight filling him with deep contentment. He moved up, holding his weigh on his arms, and let his erection rest against her thigh. She opened her eyes, the blue in them warm and bright like a summer sky, and with the slightest parting of her legs, she welcomed him in. All he had ever wanted.

Pressing inside her slick heat, he felt free like never before. Free to enjoy, free to give, free to forget everything outside their bed, trusting in a tomorrow better than yesterday. As he kissed her soft lips, she kissed him back, and when he thrusted into her, the sounds from her throat flowed in his ears like the sweetest music, her willing body trembling beneath his adding to his paradise. With his face buried in her neck, he emptied himself into her depths, crying out his rapture without a single shred of guilt or regret clouding the perfection.

He came inside her three more times that night, gifting her an equal number of climaxes with his mouth - and a couple of more just because he could. Each release stronger than the last, each buildup teaching him something new. Realizing she didn’t like being pinned down, he prompted her to her side and entered her from behind, his moves all the more tender as the fading red lines across her back revealed the full horror of her past. She didn’t like those scars to be touched but he made a mental note to kiss each of them, in time, when she was ready. Until then, he would concentrate on giving her new memories, something he hoped would quell the shadows in her heart, allow her to let go of her defenses, and make her feel like the queen she already was.

Before she fell into an exhausted slumber, he gathered her close and whispered to her ear a solemn promise that he would pledge his life to serve her. Whatever she needed, he would deliver. Whatever she wanted, he would make happen. And if she didn’t want him to touch her at all, he would settle for that wish too.

But holding her in his arms, listening to her peaceful breathing and feeling her seek his closeness in sleep, something told him he had nothing to worry about.

* * *


	5. For better for worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This gorgeous piece of art was created by [ coffeeblack75.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeblack75)
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The next morning, Kathryn woke up in a strange bed in a strange room, aching all over. Disoriented from a sleep deeper than usual and the unfamiliar surroundings offering no reference point, her mind was slow to understand why the sight of the dark man pulling on his black leather jacket by the side of the bed flooded her sore, naked body with a tingling warmth.

“Good morning, Kathryn. Hope you slept well.”

His voice was warm, his eyes filled with a tenderness that seemed out of place considering she barely knew the man. Then her sleep-hazed mind finally caught up, and recollections from the previous night started pouring into her consciousness. Heated images of skin on skin, hungry lips and hands feeling her everywhere, his length moving inside her and her own body arching, quivering with unforeseen pleasure, her entire soul swelling and shattering apart again and again. Had that woman really been her?

Cheeks burning, she muttered a good morning and dug further under the covers, peering at him behind the curtains of the four-poster bed. The man was every bit the stallion his bulky frame and tattooed forehead had promised, but the things he had done with his mouth… it had to be a sin, forbidden by God’s word.

For whatever reason, Chakotay found her reaction amusing.

“I’ll be gone for a few days. Meanwhile, anything you need, you can turn to B’Elanna, my steward. She’ll show you around the castle when you’re ready.” He walked to the door, then stopped. “Oh, and you should decide what to do with your belongings and your soldiers. The maid mentioned they arrived this morning.”

A number of questions rushing to her head, she rose to her elbows, but before she could utter a word, he was gone without a goodbye or any information whatsoever as to where he was going and when she could expect him to return. She slumped back on the mattress. Apparently, the man wasn’t in the habit of announcing his businesses or being accountable to anyone. At least not to his newlywed wife.

Soon after he’d left, there was a firm knock on the door. A young maid entered with a breakfast tray, a cheerful good morning, and a smile that was, underneath a friendly politeness, definitely more than a little naughty.

Surely they hadn’t been that loud?

Probably obligated to bring gossip to the rest of the staff downstairs, the maid’s gaze made a busy travel around the room and the bed as she pulled the curtains aside and tied them to the bedposts. Stealing sideways glances at her, she set the tray on the bed, trying to look like she wasn’t bursting with curiosity about the well-tumbled sheets and an equally mussed lady.

Kathryn couldn’t blame her. Entertainment was few and far between and what could possibly be more exciting than being the first to meet the new lady of the house after her wedding night. Returning with all the juicy details, both real and improvised, would also ensure the maid a moment as the center of attention, a rare pleasure in itself.

The maid went to fetch a bowl of warm water and a towel, and placed them on the side table, right beside the pile of daggers, freezing briefly when she noticed them.

Kathryn sighed. That should give them something to talk about.

“Your clothes and your maid are waiting for you in your chamber, m’lady.”

“My chamber?” She’d never heard of such. Back home, the lord and lady were assumed to share a bed.

“You’ll find the door hidden behind the tapestry,” the maid said, pointing to the colorful hanging near the fireplace.

Of course, there would be a door. Even if the lady were to have a space of her own, the king would require convenience for his marital visits, whenever he deemed one was needed. Although, Chakotay’s words from last night still lingered in her memory. Words whispered with such intensity that she had almost believed him, a promise that he would never force her. Such a peculiar thing to say, but so was the man who had said it, too.

The maid shifted on her feet, hoping for more reasons to stay, but when Kathryn remained silent, she wisely concluded her time was up, curtseyed, and left.

Diving into her breakfast with a surprisingly good appetite, Kathryn’s thoughts drifted to Kes in the next room.

Kathryn's plan to marry the Maquis king had come as quite a shock to the woman. After all the years she had served Kathryn, all the wounds she had healed and tears she had dried, it was the prospect of Trebus that had pierced through her unwavering calm. None of Kathryn's attempts to explain the reasoning behind the decision had helped. For a while, Kes had been convinced that Kathryn had gone mad from the loss of her father and fiancé and the nightmare at the mercy of her first husband, but seeing a glimmer of hope appear in her mistress' eyes, a hope growing stronger with each passing day, she had gradually yielded. 'My fate is tied to yours, my lady. Wherever you go, I go,' she had said and Kathryn had thanked her, grateful she didn't have to face that fate alone. Because the truth was, Kathryn had been as terrified as Kes.

The reputation of the Maquis was horribly savage, but reflecting upon the experiences of the previous day, Kathryn couldn’t help but smile. What little she had seen of these people, the stories were indeed exaggerated. Just like her informant had told her. The Maquis might be loud and more than a bit coarse but hardly worth their wild reputation. Even the man she had married was proving much tamer in the privacy of his bedroom than his brutal manners in front of his court had implied.

Kathryn got up, wincing at the aches in her back and thighs. No, Chakotay may not have been rough, but he sure had been… enthusiastic, his excitement occasionally getting the better of him despite his efforts to contain himself. Combined with his stamina and strength and the angles her body wasn’t used to, it was a miracle she was still able to walk.

With a sheet wrapped around her nakedness, she lifted the tapestry and opened the door to her chamber.

“My lady!” Kes threw aside the dress she’d been cleaning and came to her, face lit with relief. “Are you alright?”

Without waiting for a reply, her sharp eyes began to examine Kathryn’s neck, chest, and arms, a long experience guiding her where to focus. Concern overriding modesty, she pulled the sheet off her, seeking for injuries Kathryn might be hiding or hadn’t yet noticed, and Kathryn let her, knowing the woman would not rest until her worries had eased.

“I’m fine, Kes.” And she really was.

Concluding her mistress was unharmed, Kes helped her into a fresh undershirt, then sat her down to brush her hair. “Are you hungry? Do you need to wash up?”

Kathryn relaxed into her care, fiddling with the ring on her finger. “No, I’m quite fine,” she repeated, her tone softening at the memories swirling in her head.

“Oh?” The brush stopped midway, then resumed, a gentle tease emerging into Kes’ low voice. “I see.”

Eyes downcast, Kathryn bit her lip not to grin. A wasted effort. She had never managed to hide her emotions from Kes, but discreet as always, sensing Kathryn’s mixed feelings, she didn’t press her for details. 

Once her hair was loosely braided down her back, Kathryn got up and looked at her. “And how have you been treated?”

“Very kindly, my lady. But this house is odd, the people… they’re like…”

“Like a bunch of rogues gathered by a campfire?” Kathryn helped find the words while Kes adjusted the corset on her and started tightening the laces.

“Last night at the wedding reception, yes. But then this morning, it’s like everyone woke up remembering their roles and proper etiquette again. As if protocol can be bent if needed. So strange.”

Sliding on her a kirtle and a dress, Kes then finalized the outfit with a wide belt, a veil and circlet, and a pair of silk shoes. Kathryn turned and took her hands. “This place certainly is strange, Kes, but I'm hopeful. For the first time in years, I'm actually hopeful.”

Kes looked doubtful but smiled back anyway.

Outside, Kathryn found a woman waiting for her. Clad in a loose white shirt, a tight leather vest, and even tighter leather pants, she looked more a warrior than a lady, and the way she leaned on the wall, arms crossed and tapping her foot, it appeared she had been standing there for quite some time.

Ever so slowly, the woman lifted her gaze.

“Finally, petaQ.”

“Excuse me?” 

“My apologies. I meant: ’How kind of you to honor me with your presence, my lady,’” she corrected and pushed herself off the wall, seeping anger barely under control.

Kathryn pursed her lips not to smile. She knew she should’ve been offended, horrified even at such rudeness and disrespect, but her mood was too good and the insult only highlighted the bizarre feeling that she had been cast into a world where none of the rules she had grown accustomed to applied anymore. More than anything, she felt sorry for the woman who had to begin her day in a rage, no doubt rooted in something entirely else than waiting for Kathryn.

“You must be B’Elanna. I was told you would escort me–”

“Yes, that’s what Chakotay said before he rode off leaving me to deal with everything as usual. As if I don’t have enough to do without his mating chaos.”

Kathryn bit the inside of her cheek. Whether the woman intended it or not, her coarseness was amusing. “I won’t take any more of your time then. I’m certain I can find my way–”

“Wish it was that simple, but the four hundred men Chakotay negotiated to take you off King Owen’s hands are now camped on the fields outside town and the farmers are rightfully pissed off at an army ruining their freshly turned soil.”

B’Elanna spun on her heels, not looking back if Kathryn could keep up.

“You can always ask them to move elsewhere. My men have no problem taking orders from a woman.”

“Your men? I thought these were King Owen’s men.”

“No. They’re from my personal troops, I hand-picked them myself.”

A brief silence and B’Elanna’s voice was less edgy. “Well, that’ll make things easier. The officer in charge has refused to talk to anyone else but the king or ‘Queen Kathryn’, as he called you, but since Chakotay decided to gallop off… Come on. Hope you didn’t choose your best shoes.”

How the situation had landed on the house steward’s lap and not on Ayala or any of the other military officers, Kathryn had no time to ponder. They walked across the courtyard and over the drawbridge, through the town and into the fields in a breathtaking pace, and while her muscles first protested, she had to admit the fresh air and exercise was very much needed. Leaving the castle without a guard or any escort whatsoever was another peculiarity, but Kathryn suspected the day would bring plenty of more before she would lay down to rest again.

Once Kathryn had introduced B’Elanna to Commander Cavit, the negotiations proceeded swiftly. Even though Cavit clearly frowned upon B’Elanna taking the lead, Kathryn noted she was highly efficient, capable of setting aside her anger and focusing on the matter at hand. For being a steward, her knowledge of moving, placing, and maintaining troops was remarkably detailed and her insight to personnel issues most useful. She presented several ideas on how to avoid conflicts that could arise from merging a large number of soldiers coming from different backgrounds, while recognizing the valuable opportunity for learning and mingling skills for a stronger defense. Soon enough, they agreed on spreading the troops between the five garrisons in Trebus, the majority located close to the Cardassian border.

Afterward, B’Elanna seemed like a changed person. Her temper calmed and her hurry settled, she appeared almost reluctant to leave the camp. Kathryn looked around, but all she could see were soldiers busy repairing their weapons and gear, preparing food on open fires, and resting from their long travel. Nothing especially appealing and certainly nothing that required their attention.

On their way back, B’Elanna apologized for her earlier behavior.

“Chakotay is a fine leader, but sometimes he expects us to do miracles,” she said. “There’s too few of us, so many are assigned to multiple responsibilities, and it’s not like I came to Trebus to be an indoor servant.”

“You’re not from here?” It would certainly explain her features and demeanor that were rather different from what she had seen so far.

“No, I came through the south-east passage five years ago. With only a backpack and my bat’leth.”

The last word was pronounced with evident pride and an inquiry was already on Kathryn’s lips, but she decided to save it for later. “And what is it you’d prefer to be doing instead of serving the king as his steward?” She couldn’t keep the bite away from her tone. The position was highly coveted, and she couldn’t imagine what more could be worth pursuing.

Frowning like the answer should have been obvious, the woman stared at her. “To improve my skills and prepare for battle, of course. I sure as hell wasn’t born to spend my days inside a dark, smoky castle, overseeing mundane chores and governing matters I have no interest in.” Her temper was rising again, but Kathryn was curious and didn’t interrupt. “I told this to Chakotay, several times, but no, he said he needed someone he could trust. With a lady in the house, though, my services won’t be needed half as much, thank Kahless.” As if realizing she had talked too much, she fell silent.

A strange world, indeed. A world where the lady of the castle was supposed to take care of tasks usually delegated down and the appointed steward could not wait to be thrown into battle.

B’Elanna walked her through the garrison and the stables, past the blacksmith and the armorer, mentioned a person here and a tradition there, issues that needed to be dealt with immediately and larger projects that had to be planned over the winter. Kathryn followed and listened, made questions and listened some more, but kept most of her observations to herself. 

Near the chapel, B’Elanna noticed the chaplain coming out and grimaced.

“Oh, no. Please ignore him or else…” B’Elanna warned before the bald man’s face brightened and he steered his steps towards them.

“Ah, good morning, my lady! A moment of your time, if I may.”

Kathryn saw no reason to be rude. “Good morning, Chaplain…” 

“No names. I’m only a humble servant of God, but currently, I’m not on His holy errands. My concerns are earthlier, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t understand, Chaplain.”

“You may refer to me as Doctor, my child.”

B’Elanna snorted, and the Doctor glanced at her with equal disrespect.

“I see you’re your usual charming self today, B’Elanna. How’s the leg?”

“It’s been better.”

“Aha, but without me, you wouldn’t have a leg at all.”

“So you keep telling me. Can we leave now?”

“Patience. One cannot hasten matters of importance and mine, whether they are those of the soul, the body, or the mind, are the most important of all.”

“Wonder what our lord and king would have to say about that. Should we ask when he comes back?” B’Elanna’s grin was downright evil and the Doctor paled.

Kathryn watched the two, mesmerized. She’d never seen anything like it. Two egos clashing, struggling to gain the upper hand in a battle that seemed so very pointless. But fascinating.

“Please, Doctor. You were saying?”

The man gave B’Elanna one last frown, then shifted his attention back to her. “I see you’re wearing a corset, like any lady of noble blood.”

How her underwear was a topic to be discussed in the middle of the courtyard, Kathryn couldn’t quite grasp. But, apparently, she wasn’t expected to speak, just listen.

“I also presume the King has blessed you with his seed, yes? You might not be aware, but a young, fertile woman such as yourself could very well have conceived. You may be with child as we speak.”

Whatever she might have wanted to utter choked in her throat.

“The life inside you is fragile, my lady, and we must do everything within our power to protect it. So, from now on, no corsets or other tight clothes. No wine or spicy food either. You will ride only if absolutely necessary and you most definitely will not swim in lakes or bathe in hot waters. And...”

“Uhmm, Doctor?”

“Yes, my child?”

“I’m… humbled by your wisdom and deeply grateful for your assistance, but our time is limited.”

“Say no more. I will see you tomorrow in mass and when the new life makes itself known, you will come to me for further advice. With my assistance, we will deliver the King a strong, healthy heir.”

“Naturally, Doctor… Chaplain. Good day.”

They were barely outside hearing range when B’Elanna spoke. “I’m sorry about that. Being both a chaplain and a doctor is simply too much authority for any man. Normally, we avoid him whenever we can.”

Kathryn nodded, but deep down, she wondered. A competent doctor wasn't a given. Losing her first child in the hands of quacks was solid proof of that. If this man was even half as talented as he seemed to believe, even if those skills came with a large personality, the whole community was incredibly lucky to have him. 

“Come. I’ll show you the pantry and the kitchen.”

At the end of their round, there was only one last task. The act might not have been as formal or grand as Kathryn had envisioned, but it didn’t lessen the significance of the moment. Witnessing the staff gather around them without asking proved the tradition was valued in Trebus too.

In the silence that settled over the hall, B’Elanna took the keychain she carried on her hip and offered it to Kathryn. “Welcome to castle Dorvan, Lady Kathryn. May your rule be wise and long-lasting, and bring this house honor.”

Kathryn accepted the keys and attached them to her belt, the weight a comforting proof that she was one step closer to her goal. Although the ritual was mostly symbolic, it still held power, a tangible sign that command had been transferred from one person to another.

“If there’s anything you need, please send for me,” B’Elanna added quietly.

“Thank you, B’Elanna. I can see Dorvan has been in capable hands. I will take it on from here.”

As she would. Throughout her life, she had been trained to one day take over the full responsibilities of a lady, and, if God so decided, the position of a queen. In the past, she had successfully managed much larger households; the Golden Gate briefly whenever her father was away and Bloomington when she had married. Dorvan would be a delightful challenge, but nothing beyond her ability.

That evening, she sat on the windowsill and watched a lone warrior practice on the meadow outside the castle walls. With the blood-red sun setting behind her, B’Elanna looked fierce and strong with her exotic weapon, the roars and blows she sent at an invisible enemy fueled with a passion Kathryn could only admire. Was this her dream, her peace? Maybe. All she knew was that the woman had traveled far from her home and settled in Trebus, finding something worth staying for, but it was Kathryn's arrival that had freed B'Elanna to pursue that dream. For some reason, the thought made her feel light.

After a full night’s sleep, Kathryn woke up with an energy she hadn’t felt in ages. Set to familiarize herself with the people and customs of her new home, she spent the following days exploring the castle, greeting everyone, observing and learning how things were done. Not because it was expected or necessary, but because of curiosity and an ambition too young to have a direction. During her inspection, she discovered that just as the violent nature of the Maquis had been severely exaggerated, so was their poverty and unruliness.

Perhaps due to its smaller size, Dorvan actually seemed better organized than the Golden Gate. The estate was well-kept and the account books precise and up to date. The role of every servant was clearly defined, discipline upheld more through routine and commitment than grand titles and strict obedience. Even though there weren’t enough hands - something she would have to look into later - and the pantry was emptier after the winter than she would have preferred, everyone appeared content. Building her leadership on such a steady basis was almost too easy. The changes she requested were executed without delay, and as she rather spent her evenings studying the notes of finances and rulings than completing her many unfinished embroideries, she had soon woven herself into the castle’s daily life, claiming her status not only in title but in practice as well.

Every so often, she noticed Ayala watching her. From the curtain wall or the other end of the yard, his hawk eyes set on her, following her moves. Whether he was acting under the king’s orders or by his own intuition made no difference, she would not let his blatant surveillance distract her. Ayala was a loyal man dedicated to serve the kingdom to his best ability and would do what he thought was right. Likewise, so would she.

Like she had anticipated, securing her position and acting as the sole leader of the house empowered her unlike anything before. The freedom and the challenge were exactly what she had hungered for, soothing her wounded soul, rebuilding her spirit, and flooding her with energy and confidence. Standing at the edge of her future, stretching her wings and ready to fly, she went to sleep every night with a sense that her life was now complete.

But when the guards announced the arrival of the King’s party twelve days later, the wild beating of her heart told her there was one thing she had both missed and dreaded – the return of her husband.

* * *


	6. For richer for poorer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gift from the amazing [ Torri012.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torri012)
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Hurrying outside to the courtyard to welcome her husband and lord home, Kathryn found it difficult to stay calm.

His return meant inevitable change. An end to her peaceful solitude and sole reign, a state she had grown quite comfortable with, and a beginning to their life together, however it would turn out. Because of his sudden departure the morning after their wedding, she had no idea where they stood and what he expected of her. Or what she expected of him, for that matter. Getting to know his estate and staff before she got to know him was a curiously backward way to start a marriage. Still, her thoughts were also filled with matters of much less importance.

Since he had left, she’d started wearing more practical outfits, dresses and shoes better suited to her new home and chores. Rushing down the stairs, she considered going back and changing into something more elaborate, something that resembled her appearance on their wedding day, every detail carefully chosen to act as a shield and a message. As soon as the idea had formed, though, she discarded it as pointless. Then she came to think that walking was probably more dignified and fitting to her position than running, and reduced her pace into a ridiculously slow stroll.

She took a deep breath.

There was no need to worry about her appearance. All that really mattered was how she had taken care of Dorvan and that, she could say with absolute certainty, she had managed well. The house was running at least as smoothly and orderly as it did under his command, and the changes she had made were sensible and long overdue. Yet somehow, that knowledge did nothing to calm her fluttering heart.

Clasping her hands to keep them from trembling, she watched the king’s party ride through the gates, the courtyard bursting to life at their arrival. Stable boys ran to take the sweaty horses, maids to fetch the muddy packs and gear from the men weary after what seemed like a long travel in rain. Even from afar, she had seen Chakotay scanning the yard, perhaps missing her in the crowd because of her lack of splendor, but when he finally spotted her, his face broke into a full dimpled smile. For no obvious reason, her knees felt weak.

On the outside, their greeting was formal. Her curtsey modest, his nod short. But in the most surreal manner, his closeness made the noises and bustle around them fade away, as if the rest of the world had lost meaning. All she could focus on was him. His dark eyes sweeping over her, taking her in, and the peace falling on his features at the sight of her. And the unexpected warmth spreading from her chest in response, coloring her cheeks and heating her all over, his contentment resonating somewhere deep within her, evoking memories she wasn’t ready to explore.

The moment was broken as a servant came to help Chakotay with his gear, but from that first minute, it was clear the twelve days they had spent apart had done nothing to ease the tension between them, only made it grow stronger. As if it hadn’t already been out of control.

To keep herself afloat from the inescapable pull right beneath a thin layer of rational thought, she forced her mind on everyday matters. She accompanied him inside, talking about small events he had missed. An elderly lady who passed away. A beginning of a fire in the blacksmith’s shop they managed to put out. The chaplain insisting on new decorations for the chapel. And the most peculiar, most talkative man appearing at the castle gates with a cart containing something he called leola root he was going to try growing here, saying he was the grand master chef returning from a visit to his homeworld Talax, then making his way to the kitchen and taking over like he had never left.

Chakotay listened and nodded, a gentle, approving smile playing on his lips. Realizing her chatter only emphasized her nervousness, she settled to giving out orders for an early dinner and a bath after.

Only this time the bath wasn’t for her. The lord had been away from his wife for almost a fortnight. Even without the sizzling tension, she could have guessed he would seek to satisfy his manly needs gathered while he was traveling. For her own convenience, the least she could do was make sure the man crawling on top of her was clean.

After a dinner louder and merrier than any of the ones when he was away, they left the great hall to see hot water being carried upstairs. As soon as the last bucket was emptied to the tub, Kathryn shooed the surprised maids out of the room, stating she would bathe the lord herself, then closed the door rolling her eyes at the clearly audible giggles from the other side. She would have to put an end to the maids’ nonsense at some point, she thought, but then she saw the lord himself, grinning shamelessly at the turn of events, and sighed. Hands on hips, she ordered him to undress, hoping her harsh tone would wipe the smirk off his face, which it certainly did.

Not that the alternative was any easier.

He piled his clothes on the floor, one by one, deliberately slow. His firm gaze dared her to watch and she lifted her chin, refusing to give him the pleasure of her weakness, but as he gradually revealed more skin for her to marvel at, she swallowed and lowered her eyes. Clearly, she had underestimated the impact he had on her. Not only because she hadn’t really had a chance to see him properly naked before now and had to admit he was a truly gorgeous man; not even because he was fully aroused and doing nothing to hide it. But because the sight brought up the vivid memories of him going down on her, stroking her to climax, then pushing that thick, hard length inside her to seek his own release until starting over again. And again. And–

“For a woman who claims she doesn’t blush, you wear that shade on your cheeks well,” he said with all seriousness as he stepped into the water. “Care to tell me what you were thinking?”

She did not.

With more force than necessary, she swatted the washcloth on his back and started rubbing him from the neck down. He winced, then groaned as she happened to scrub open a cut not fully healed, but endured her harsh treatment good-naturedly, falling silent, relaxing under her touch.

In the flickering light of the fireplace, the castle’s life quieting towards evening, the moment could have been peaceful. Could have, if the air hadn’t been so heavy with expectation. Carefully avoiding his heated gaze, she tried to concentrate solely on her task, but her own treacherous eyes kept drinking him in. She watched the movement of his muscles, traced scars reminding of battles past. She noticed the strong beat of his heart, the steady rise and fall of his chest so different from her own quickened, shallow breath. All through the bath, he stayed still, but when a stray curl fell on her forehead, he raised a hand and tucked the lock behind her ear, the tenderness of the gesture making her tremble.

By the time she reached water level, her head was dizzy, her skin warm and tingling at the intimacy. Unable to look at him, she gave him the cloth and cleared her throat, saying she trusted he could manage the rest himself and he thanked her, voice rough but undemanding. 

She waited in her room well into the night. Part of her anxious to get the deed over with, part of her aching for a thorough repetition of their first time. But he never showed up.

Utterly at a loss, she could only conclude that he’d been so exhausted that he’d fallen asleep.

At breakfast, he greeted her politely, giving no indication anything was out of the ordinary, and said he would be spending his day on duties piled when he was away. She nodded and mentioned she would be busy as well, unable to decide whether she was relieved or disappointed with their distance. The rest of the day, she barely saw him until dinner where they sat side by side, their closeness sparking the familiar flame and building up to a tension again left unresolved as the door between their rooms stayed closed.

Laying in her bed on the third night, tossing and turning, frustrated and confused, straining to hear any sounds whatsoever from the next room, she couldn’t begin to understand what was keeping him away.

“You’re restless, my lady,” came a familiar voice in the dark.

“I’m quite fine. Sleep, Kes.”

Kathryn was not in the mood to talk, but, apparently, it was one of those times Kes felt compelled to speak her mind.

“It’s the third night since he got home. Suppressing your feelings isn’t healthy. You should go to him.”

“I will not,” Kathryn said, folding her arms.

“Why not? He’s your husband and your heart longs to be with him. You should be sharing his bed.”

Kes was not saving her words tonight.

“It’s… embarrassing. Demeaning. A woman should not need a man more than a man needs her. I shouldn’t need him at all.”

“And how do you know what he’s feeling? He could be as restless as you are. And stubborn. A happy marriage requires more than that, my lady.”

Since when had Kathryn been looking for a happy marriage? Last she checked, she was looking for a tolerable marriage and a position that would keep her safe for the rest of her life. That was enough.

Or was it?

“I’m not having this conversation now. Sleep, Kes.”

The following day passed by, as uneventful as the previous ones. After mass, Chakotay spent the better part of the morning meeting with his council, then holding audiences, and in the afternoon he visited the chaplain, soothing him with promises that the lady would supply his church with some beautiful altar linen in addition to the sculptures of his chosen saints Chakotay would order from the carpenter. They didn’t meet again until the evening when they sat together first at dinner in the great hall, then in their private chamber, both focused on their own thoughts with the candles and the open fire casting their soft light, creating a sense of home.

The needlework on Kathryn’s lap didn’t progress. Instead, she kept glaring at the man sitting by the fireplace for the third night in a row, staring into the flames with his legs lifted on a footstool, one hand holding a drink, the other scratching the large, half-senile dog sprawled on the floor beside him.

Really. The dog.

After two weeks of travel inspecting the five garrisons of his kingdom, a trip he took immediately after their wedding night, two weeks of riding in rain and dirt, he was content to sit by the fire and scratch his dog without a single attempt to…

Oh, why did she care?

If anything, she should be grateful. Marital obligations were an inconvenience, an unavoidable burden. At best, an occasional responsibility over in a few minutes. At worst… well, she’d experienced the worst. So what was this? The currents between them were too complicated for her to label yet too powerful to dismiss, and without him making a move, she had no means to solve the situation on her own. And she hated it. Hated her helplessness, hated his passivity. As if he was intentionally denying her something he knew she wanted. 

Not that she truly wanted anything from him, she swiftly corrected herself. She just found it irritating to be left in the dark.

“I almost forgot,” Chakotay suddenly said, breaking the thick silence. “Tuvok sends you his congratulations.”

She froze, her defenses up in a second. Tuvok was still in Trebus? She had sent him to Dorvan nearly a year ago, on a mission to collect as much information about Trebus and its king as possible and to deliver it to Kathryn for her escape plan. But once Chakotay and Owen had signed the marriage treaty, she had messaged Tuvok an explicit order to return home. 

“How… kind of him,” she said, cursing the slight tremor in her voice. After admitting to Chakotay that she had done research on him, then describing in perfect detail the incident on the border and the girl he had rescued, figuring out her source would have been easy for him. She should have made sure Tuvok was safely back in the Federation before talking so carelessly.

Was this the reason Chakotay had left so quickly after their wedding? To check if his suspicions were right and to deal with an enemy spy? And then to come back and deal with the woman who had betrayed him?

“And how is he?” she asked when Chakotay didn’t continue, her pulse sky-high.

“He’s well. The injuries from our unfortunate inspection on the border last fall have healed well, thanks to the Doctor, and the Southern garrison I stationed him in seems to suit him fine. Not that the man is terribly expressive, but I’ll take his word when he says he’s found his duties ‘most agreeable’. He did say he hoped you would visit whenever your responsibilities allowed. I think he was worried about you.”

The tight knot in her gut didn’t ease. Chakotay appeared relaxed, but if her first marriage had taught her anything, it was that a calm surface could hide beneath a rage one breath away from exploding. Nevertheless, Tuvok was too important to her. Come what may, she needed to know.

“And what are you going to do with him?” she blurted and when Chakotay turned to her, seemingly ignorant of what she meant, she channeled all her fears into a sharper tone, fully aware she was entering a fight that could end very badly for her. “A Federation spy who infiltrated into your army? Gained your trust and served by your side, only to gather information on your kingdom? Surely you have a plan for such a man.”

Chakotay’s stare was long and intent. “We had a thorough discussion. I wish you would have told me about him, but I do understand why you felt the need to send him. I’ll give him a chance to prove himself.”

Kathryn snorted. His lack of reaction was incomprehensible and, quite frankly, not convincing. Deep down, she found it hard to believe Tuvok was even alive anymore. “A chance to prove himself? Like you did with the farmer’s son?”

Now, his frown was genuinely puzzled. “The farmer? You mean the man from our wedding reception?”

“Yes, I’m so glad you still remembered him. He did come a long way to speak to you,” she sneered, not sure why she brought up a boy she had never met and whose fate was of no importance to her. She just wanted Chakotay to drop the pretense and be honest. She deserved at least that much.

“It’s farming season,” he said, as if that should have been enough to explain everything. “The boy will help his father over harvest. After that, he’ll be brought to the castle to serve his king. It’s already been arranged.”

Along with the dawning of understanding, she felt herself blush. Again. 

“Oh.”

By now, her first husband would have unleashed his wrath upon her. Chakotay, however, chose another path.

“This is a small kingdom, Kathryn,” he explained patiently. “Everyone is needed. Every adventurer climbing over the mountains, every warrior thirsty for battle. A Talaxian who can make edible stew from leola root and prevent people from starving over the winter, and most definitely a Federation commander with more knowledge about Cardassia than anyone here - if I’m convinced he’s not a threat. And if a farmer’s boy wants a chance to show what he’s made of, I’ll grant him that. I won’t judge people beforehand or stand in the way of ambition, Kathryn. I can’t afford to.”

The image of B’Elanna practicing with her strange weapon in the field at sunset rose to her mind.

“I see,” she said quietly, looking down at her hands. Somehow, she had the distinct feeling that he was talking about her too, but she couldn’t understand why he would need an ambitious wife. Obedience was usually enough.

As quickly as her emotions had surged, they dissolved again. Her anger into a sense of shame, her fears into a recognition that even though she still had a lot to learn of her new home and husband, she was in no danger either. Her past experiences led to misunderstanding far too easily. Trebus was not the same as the Federation, and Chakotay was not Lord Johnson.

Drained after days of uncertainty and the rapid shifts of emotion, she set down her needlework.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord. I’ll retire for the night.”

“Certainly, my lady. Sleep well.”

Kathryn stepped into a blissfully silent room. After the previous night’s discussion, she had sent Kes to sleep elsewhere, and with the confrontation with Chakotay weighing on her, she was relieved to be alone. Kes was a wise woman and knew Kathryn well, but sometimes her observations were too accurate, too honest, hitting too close to sorrows and dreams Kathryn had buried deep within, memories she visited only on rare occasions.

Undressing on her own was slow, brushing her long hair a little tricky, but she wasn’t in a hurry and, going through her routines, she let her thoughts drift.

Kes had been right, of course. About marriage. Kathryn had witnessed a happy union once, a bond built on mutual trust and respect, growing into a love that lasted till death separated them. In her heart, she still carried recollections of her parents’ quiet conversations and relaxed togetherness, lingering touches when they thought no one saw. What passed between them when they existed in the same room was nothing less than magic. No words were required, sometimes they seemed to sense each other’s moods without even looking. But most of all, she remembered the peace. Like both had found in each other something that made every day worth living and every challenge a likely victory. 

After her mother died, her father never spoke of her, never spoke of his love or his pain, but he did change. As if the world had lost its colors, his lungs the need to breathe. For his daughters and his kingdom, he marched on until his own death, but everyone could see his heart was empty.

Even knowing the inevitable ending of such love, she had dreamed of a bond like that ever since she was a child.

With Justin, she had been close. So close that she could already feel the happiness at her fingertips, waiting to be grabbed with both hands and cherished until it blossomed. But instead of stepping into the future she had awaited, she had been thrown into darkness, a hell she’d barely survived. How on earth was she supposed to take that risk again? Where could she ever find that kind of courage? Loving anyone in this uncertain world was madness anyway. And what were the odds that she would find what she longed for, in the arms of a Maquis king, no less?

Maybe she was making this too difficult. She was a practical woman after all. Perhaps love was best kept as a fantasy. Like peace, safety, and happiness. Not to be chased because it would always flee further away or end up crushed by the violent, unpredictable tides of the world, but to be locked inside as a beautiful dream, offering hope and consolation in times of despair.

What she could have, though, was something much more real. Much more urgent.

She had a husband. Powerful and strong, yet kind of heart and sinfully talented. And while his dark eyes burned with lust for her, for some reason unknown to her, he kept that lust under tight control, wanting her pleasure before his. She couldn’t begin to understand it, but she did remember. A delight sweeter than anything she could have imagined possible, capable of vanquishing all shadows from her soul and replacing it with unspeakable joy, peaking to glorious heights where she ceased to exist and shattered into light only to come back, each time a little stronger.

Without giving herself a chance to change her mind, she threw the covers aside, got up, and walked to the door leading to Chakotay’s room. 

* * *


	7. For fairer or fouler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s like [ Jane_dee01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jane_dee01/pseuds/Jane_dee01) read my mind when she created this gem.
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The heavy door opened with a creak.

In the pale light of the moon, she could see Chakotay was awake, leaning back against a pile of pillows, an arm folded behind his head, upper body bare.

She stopped at the doorway, mouth dry. In the surreal stillness of midnight, he seemed very different from the man she knew from daylight, the sensible, temperate king and the husband who liked to relax by the fireplace. In many ways, this man was still a mystery. The lines on his forehead, black as a raven’s feather, were more pronounced now, his broad shoulders and muscular arms more intimidating, hinting of a primal, carnal side she was yet to fully experience.

He didn’t appear surprised to see her. As if her arrival had been foreseen, written in the stars and thus nothing shocking, he only turned to look at her. And with that single glance she couldn’t read, the resolve that had pushed her to come to him faded like it had never existed.

A horrible nervousness gripped her stomach. Confronted with his overwhelming strength, she was once again reminded how small and weak she was, how completely defenseless if he chose to hurt her. This time, she didn’t even have her arrogance or her knives for protection.

Why, why, had she come?

Deliberately slow, he pushed the covers aside and got up, his large, naked, and aroused body as majestic as it was daunting. As if hypnotized, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. His calm and careful steps approaching her reminded her of a lion and when he stood before her, towering over her with his masculinity and heat radiating through her thin chemise, his presence filled her whole world.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Kathryn. I’m so happy you’re here.”

His voice was soft, his eyes kind, but right beneath that patience was a passion straining to be freed, a passion equally thrilling and frightening.

He lifted his hand and caressed the side of her face, studying her reaction to his touch, but his caution made no difference. Her heart fluttered like a caged little bird, her mind racing with possible outcomes of a situation that was fast spiraling out of her control - if it had ever been under her control to begin with.

Unable to speak, she wet her lips. Without conscious thought, her gaze dropped to his mouth, the center of all her fantasies, the memory igniting a quiver low in her belly. The gesture was his undoing. With the faintest groan rising from his throat, he took her chin, tilted her head, and pressed his full lips to hers.

She froze to where she stood, but in contrast to the expectations carved deep within her, he kissed her not in demand or conquest, but a gentle greeting, almost like a welcome home. The warmth of his touch flowed down her skin like liquid sunshine, leaving her trembling but no more capable of responding to his affection than before.

When she couldn’t so much as kiss him back, he eased off. Undisturbed, his lips continued their journey to her neck, his fingertips trailing down her spine light as air. Each kiss on the sensitive spot below her ear sent a spark of pleasure through her, soothing her reserve with delicious persistence, and when his hand settled on the small of her back, her body molded into his touch as if knowing what it needed before her conscious mind did.

“Tell me what you want, Kathryn,” he whispered against her skin, the longing in his tone and the absolute control he held over his passion making her shiver.

His question was odd, like so many things about him, his reasons to ask for her wishes beyond her grasp. A part of her hoped she could answer him. Find a way to describe the flames burning within her, both the ones that nourished and the ones that destroyed. But what she wanted she could not voice. Never. Even if she had found the courage to say such things, the conflicting desires inside her were too strong and too new, without shape or form to fit into words. All she knew was that she wanted him. Something only he could offer. Something that awaited beyond the shadows and the insecurity, something she was willing to risk everything to reach.

Even though she couldn’t express those needs, she could show him, encourage him. All it required was another leap of faith. She pressed her palm on his chest, over his heart, and lifted her eyes to his face, hoping he understood.

His smile was brighter than the sun.

Without delay, he took the hem of her chemise, pulled it over her head, and let it fall to the floor, his smile transforming into a helpless hunger at the sight of her. He touched the side of her breast, his thumb brushing her nipple and his palm cupping her soft weight, momentarily lost in a craving of his own. But as a suppressed sigh left her lips at the sensation, her body swaying toward him for more, he glanced at her, determination set in his jaw.

In a gesture like worship, he sank to his knees. Gazing up at her, he kissed her belly and her mound then shifted a little lower still and paused to wait for her signal.

She could hardly breathe. Even if she lived a hundred years, she would never see anything more magnificent. A powerful, beautiful man kneeling in front of her, looking at her like she was a goddess, asking for permission for something that was already his, asking to please her when pleasing himself was his prerogative, his God-given right.

Her thighs parted in eager consent and feeling his breath on her heated flesh, she let her head drop back, awaiting the heaven her body remembered in vivid detail. He didn’t hesitate. The first long lick over her folds electrified her from head to toe and with his mouth latching over her pulsing tip, her knees buckled and she reached out to her sides, searching for something, anything solid to hold onto.

How could anyone create such sweet magic?

Clutching the doorframe, she gasped as a finger slid inside her, thick and strong, pushing and massaging her while his mouth, his divine mouth, worked on her nub. She tried to stay quiet, tried to stay still, but with the pleasure from her core surging along every nerve and limb, she was soon shaking in helpless arousal, craving a high she didn’t know how to reach herself.

Lucky for her, he did. Sneaking an arm around her hips to support her, he kept stroking her with growing intensity, past the point where her suffocated moans turned into pained sobs aching for release, all the way to the crest where his last sure licks sent her falling, wailing into pure white bliss.

Later, she would think she was possessed. Perhaps she was. But as her own cry echoed in her ears, her body throbbing frantically after a release that should have led to a peaceful afterglow but escalated into an even stronger urgency to have more, she didn’t question her motives.

Her mind narrowed to one thought only, she pushed him on his back to the floor and straddled him, and before he even seemed to realize what was happening, she guided his hardness at her slick entrance and sank down on him.

A rapturous hiss left both their lips. Tears prickling behind her lids at the utter perfection, she lifted her hips and pushed down again.

She heard him groan and felt him shiver but caught in the sheer joy of taking what she wanted, without the restraints of shame, modesty, or traditional roles that had always held her down, she couldn’t spare half a thought to his pleasure. Hers was roaring too loud. From a distance, she was aware that he was watching her naked curves and unveiled lust, but searching for an angle to gift her the right kind of friction, she couldn’t begin to care. Eyes shut, she moved faster, moaning at the flames of another climax building inside her, the fullness of his length plunging into her the answer to every silent prayer of her body over the past two weeks.

His hands came to rest on her hips, guiding her to a slower pace, but for the life of her, she couldn’t do slow. The more desperate his strained voice pleaded her, the harder she rode him, her breath heavy and her mind in a frenzy, set to have her satisfaction however she wanted. His wishes were only noise in the background, insignificant and irrelevant compared to the thunder within her, and when his grip on her hips tightened in a firmer attempt to govern her moves, threatening to take away her ecstasy and command, a force darker than night took over her.

In a lash of fury, she wrenched his hands from her and shoved them on the floor on the sides of his head. His eyes shot open, the shock on his face evoking a memory, disturbing and unbidden. The past and the present whirling in her head, she leaned on his wrists with her full weight, holding him pinned like she had been held, in a prison she had escaped and had sworn to rather die than relive ever again.

For a few seconds, they only stared at each other, trembling at the edge of something dark and foul. The future balancing on the tip of one decision.

Beneath her fever, she knew he could have freed himself. Easily. Without any effort whatsoever, he could have flipped her over, rip away her spirit and pride and the beginning of trust, and leave her with bruises and tears when he was done. He could have, but he didn’t. As if he was seeing deeper into her than she ever did herself, his shock soon tempered into an acceptance. Understanding her even though she couldn’t.

Instead of quelling the storm inside her, his reaction only provoked its power.

She pushed his wrists on the cold floor once more and hissed at him not to move. Digging her nails into his chest, she sank on his length again and watched him moan despite the pain. A fresh flood of arousal gushed between her legs at the sound. Keeping her eyes on him, she began moving, her rapture fed by his pain-soaked pleasure as she paired each sharp thrust with another nail piercing his skin, drawing blood, each crimson trickle a trophy and a proof of her rule.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

On an impulse she understood as poorly as her urge to claw his chest, she wrapped her hand around his throat. Her dominance surged through her veins like a drug. She could feel his body tense under her, see his perfect features clouding in an instinct to defend himself, his arms twitching in preparation, but she tightened her grip on his throat and her thighs around him, glaring a warning not to resist. 

Whatever he saw in her, it was enough for his uncertainty to dissolve. As she resumed her moves, too slow to satisfy either one of them, he relaxed, set to endure whatever she chose to inflict on him. Lips parted in a steadying breath, he kept his eyes locked with hers, allowing, _insisting_ , her to see the impact her actions had on him.

She knew she wouldn’t come, not like this, but the complete command over him was something far better. The ultimate delight. Because at that moment, his pleasure and his life belonged to her. Not the other way around.

Thrust by thrust, deliberately changing her pace and force, keeping him at her mercy and taking away any illusion of authority he might have harbored, she built him up with sharp, punishing stabs. The faster she rode him, the harder she grabbed his throat, lightheaded at his lack of resistance even as his face reddened and his eyelids fluttered at the brink of passing out. The sight was intoxicating. For a few marvelous seconds, she listened to his erratic, shallow gasps and watched his body struggling for air and release, then loosened her hold and reduced her movement to a mere rotation of her hips, waiting for him to come to before starting again.

He lasted surprisingly long. Lying beneath her, tormented, ravished.

Conquered.

At his peak, his lips formed one word. Her name. Then his eyes closed, and he surrendered the last shred of control. Under her palms, his desperate, choked cry vibrated wild and raw as his seed burst inside her and his body shuddered violently in waves that seemed never-ending.

His return was slow. Then again, so was hers.

The storm she had been forced to keep locked within had roared and raged itself out, relenting into an inevitable calm. Even though her body pulsed with unfulfilled need, her heart was strangely satisfied, her mind swimming with a sense of victory. The triumph was both gratifying and terrifying. She had no idea how he would react, how his manly ego would take what she had done to him. But then he opened his eyes and instead of hatred or vengeance, she found compassion, piercing into her soul and flooding her with an affection she didn’t deserve.

“You’re beautiful, Kathryn,” he whispered, his voice coming raspy from his battered throat. “Don’t ever be afraid of the power you yield.”

The tenderness was too much to bear. She averted her gaze, but he wouldn’t let her flee. He reached up to touch her chin, then turned her to look at him again. “It’s okay. Yes, you’re able to hurt me, just like I could hurt you too. But I much rather we didn’t.”

He gathered her close and stood up, lifting her like she weighed nothing at all, but instead of laying her on the bed, he let her down on the floor. She recognized a wave of disappointment. Regardless of how she had treated him, she realized she had been expecting him to gift her another climax with his mouth. Like it was an established routine, not a privilege.

As if her thoughts were written on her face, he grinned. His familiar confidence and decisiveness returning, he threaded his fingers into her hair and cupped her cheek. “Don’t worry, you’ll get as many orgasms tonight as you like.” And before she had the opportunity to smack him at such audacity, he kissed her again, this time giving her absolutely no chance not to respond.

He pulled her into his arms, engulfing her with his warmth and his passion. His lips moved on hers as if he was set to kiss her for an eternity, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth, biting gently only to lick the brief sting of pain away, and when she parted her lips to catch her breath, he pried them open further, tentatively touching her tongue with his. Another delicacy she had no previous knowledge of, making her toes curl in delight.

When he withdrew, she was dizzy and out of breath, her lips wet and swollen. Never in her life had she been kissed like that. Then again, she’d never done most of the things he was teaching her. And she ached to learn more.

“You really don’t like being pinned down laying under me, do you?” he asked, not quite as composed anymore.

She shook her head, her throat tightening at the mere thought.

“I understand. We’ll think of something else then.”

He turned her around to face the bed, gesturing for her to take support from the bedpost. Confused as to what he was planning, she held onto the wooden pillar and glanced over her shoulder. His lips immediately found hers again, his arms curling around her waist.

“If you don’t object, that is,” he murmured and pulled her flush against his warm, solid body, his hand finding its way to tease her breast.

She gripped the bedpost tighter.

God, no. How could she object?

Whether she would ever figure out this man, she had no idea. So many times, she had misjudged him, his thinking and actions against everything she had learned in life. She did not know of a man so dedicated to a woman’s pleasure, nor anyone so willing to accept her as she was, with all her contradictions and struggles, her moods and flaws, and the burdens from her past. And the intensity, his determination to create a shared heaven filled her with a certainty that in his embrace, she would be safe and cared for, forever.

The mouth sucking her neck was sweet but just a bit too gentle, the hand kneading her breast a little too tender, so she pushed against him harder. If it was a smile she felt on her skin, she didn’t mind. She sighed her approval as his fingers trailed down between her thighs and began stroking her like his mouth had before, the softness of his tongue replaced with a delicious pressure and force. Then he left her breast and slid two fingers inside her from the back, beginning a double stimulation that hit her consciousness like lightning.

She had no knowledge of herself or her surroundings, no restraint over the sounds leaving her throat. All she could focus on was the fingers rubbing her and moving inside her, her hips undecided whether to push back to meet the thrusts of his hand or to lean forward for a firmer contact on her clit. Frustrated with the setup that offered her no possibility to move and help build her arousal, she reached back and grabbed his hair, keeping his mouth on her neck while letting him do the magic he mastered so well. His erection hard against her buttock and his breath hot and rough in her ear, she could feel her climax approaching, the tingle and tension at her core growing steady and sure until boiling over. Quivering, gasping, she came apart in his arms, dissolving into air and sunshine, finally satisfied.

But the man behind her wasn’t finished.

A firm hand on her back motioned her to bend over the bed and in her post-orgasm haze, she gladly obeyed. Laying her head and palms on the cool sheets, she vaguely acknowledged her vulnerable position as he kneeled behind her, how much of her was bared to his view, but the thought faded into a meaningless detail as he took her by the hips, his mouth pressing against her core.

Before sinking into the tides she was becoming addicted to, she wondered if they could keep on going until dawn. If he or she would tire first. One day, she wanted to find out.

Considerate of her sensitivity after orgasm, his tongue moved on her gently at first, dipping inside and gliding around her folds and nub that was quickly awakening to meet the renewed attention. His hands roamed over her waist, back, and breasts in endless rounds while his mouth lapped and sucked her sex, enslaving her with his devotion and skill. And when she moved in restless hunger for more, he focused on her point of pleasure, relentless in his effort to make her come. Playing her body like a rare instrument only he could master.

A single tear fell down her cheek, the joy too great to contain.

One hand on her buttock, another kneading her breast, his tongue moved faster and she didn’t hold back her ecstasy. Wanting him to know exactly what he was doing to her, she let her moans flow freely, her body quiver, tremble, and arch. Reading those signals with precision, he waited for her breath to hitch and her body to tense, then got up, gripped her hips, and pushed his entire length inside her in one long, forceful thrust.

She cried out and clutched the sheets, but nothing in the world could have made her move. As he started pounding into her, free of caution or reserve, she closed her eyes and succumbed to the avalanche of sensations.

His rule was as thrilling as it was absolute. The angle allowed him to go deeper than ever, stretching her flesh and hammering the depths of her, but it also left his hands free. And when she sensed him reaching around her to rub her clit, she didn’t care less that he was taking her like an animal but spread her legs wider and relaxed, letting the man drive into her with all his passion and all his might until she came screaming into the pillow, her strength and will drained.

At her crest, erupting into a cloud of bliss, she felt him speed up, seeking his own release, his final hard jerks and hoarse groans and his flood inside her the perfect crown to the act. Panting and shuddering, he pressed into her one last time, then sighed and paused.

In the silence, she couldn’t stop smiling. She was barely recovering from a brilliant high and he was already caressing her again. Maybe it was she who would need sleep first. Not yet, though.

“Do you want to go?” he asked, sliding out and helping her lie down while he remained standing.

She looked at him. The lines on his forehead she was beginning to know by heart, the wounds on his chest she now recognized as shadows from her past, his strong arms she knew would bring her the stars and the moon if she so wanted. His beautiful face, honest and open, offering himself yet uncertain if she would have him, still, after everything he had given her.

What had she done to deserve this man?

“No.”

Finally. A word and a truth she had no trouble expressing.

Maybe there was hope, after all. Maybe, in time, she would learn to speak of other important things with this man too.

* * *


	8. In sickness and in health

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is only one of [ carter-sg-1](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/carter-sg-1) ‘s many gorgeous King Chakotay manips.
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Kathryn stepped out to the courtyard and squinted her eyes in the sun. Despite the early morning, the air was already warm, bearing the promise of yet another day in sweltering heat. Not that she complained, at least not out loud, but with the heat of the summer creeping everywhere and the weeks repeating a steady, predictable routine, the prospect of spending the day riding to the mountains was a welcome change.

Chakotay waited for her by the stables, two horses saddled and ready. Dressed in a white linen shirt and comfortable pants instead of his usual black leather, he looked less like a king and more like the man she woke up with every morning, the man who always gathered her close before getting up and starting his day. Next to him was Ayala, leaning close, gesturing with his hands, obviously upset about something. Not at all the quiet, reserved officer she had come to know.

The moment she stepped into view, Chakotay lifted his hand and the conversation came to an abrupt end. Both men glanced her way. As she approached, Ayala excused himself, greeting her curtly in passing.

“Is something wrong?” she asked Chakotay while taking the reins of the chestnut mare she had adopted as her favorite.

She was well-aware Ayala was still suspicious of her. The two weeks of surveillance after their wedding had only been the beginning. Since Chakotay’s return, Ayala had just been more discreet, employing the guards rather than observing her himself. Her attempts to confront him had led nowhere. Staring somewhere over her shoulder, face blank and voice even, the man had repeatedly denied any disrespect or hidden agenda, saying it was his duty to protect the lady of the house and to achieve that, he needed to know where she was and what she was doing. Further questions were met with a silence.

“No. Just Ayala being his usual, over-protective self. I’d be insulted if I didn’t know he means well. I trust he’s been polite to you, though.” To her raise of brow, he shrugged. “He’s been tactful enough, but today he called me a blind fool and compared you to my first wife, Seska.”

He moved to tighten the girth straps of her saddle.

“The Cardassian traitor? How charming.”

Chakotay’s face broke into a wide smile. “He says you’re both too beautiful and too ambitious to be trusted, and that I’m thinking with my balls, not my brain, and it’s endangering the whole kingdom.”

Four months ago, she couldn’t have imagined anyone talking to the king in that manner and walking away with his head intact. Nor could she have imagined a husband repeating such coarseness to his wife – or the wife listening, for that matter.

“He sure doesn’t hesitate to speak his mind to you. That’s more than he’s said to me the entire time I’ve been here.”

The fact that she hadn’t yet gained Ayala’s trust was getting somewhat alarming. After all, he was the commander of Trebus’ army, not to mention Chakotay’s oldest friend. A queen without his support wouldn’t make much of a ruler.

She shook the uncomfortable thought away and continued. “Still, it is his duty to protect the king and country. Aren’t you worried he might have a point?”

Chakotay’s warm gaze trailed down to the gentle swell of her belly. “Not for one second.”

Kathryn smiled back but, deep down, she could understand Ayala’s worries. Despite Chakotay’s power and rough exterior, his trust in people was sometimes frighteningly naïve, his affection too easily earned, still, even after the horrible price he’d paid for his last mistake. Although she saw the benefits of such good faith every day, she also understood the undeniable risks.

“So, where are we going?” she asked, ignoring Chakotay’s offer to help her and mounting her horse effortlessly on her own.

Whenever she went riding, she recalled the Doctor’s reaction when he’d first seen her on a horse after the pregnancy had been verified. Cheeks burning, she had endured his very harsh and very public lecture until, ultimately, she had been forced to threaten to replace him if he didn’t back away. She felt guilty for her bluff, but it had paid off. After the encounter, their relationship had found a balance and mutual respect that calmed the tone of their discussions. Nevertheless, the memory lingered.

“You’ll see, my lady,” Chakotay replied with a twinkle in his eyes. “Just try to keep up.”

In a second, it seemed, he had mounted his pitch-black warhorse and spurred it to a full trot, leaving her irrevocably behind. She cursed under her breath.

“Come on, Phoebe,” she murmured, soothing the chestnut alarmed by its companion’s sudden hurry. “It’s time for that feisty nature of yours to shine. We need to teach that arrogant man who the true leader is.”

She rode through the gates and over the drawbridge, into the plains opening before her as wide as the blue skies above. With each feverish step, she caught up with him a little more. The wind in her hair sang of freedom, the mountains in the horizon a promise of adventure, the man riding ahead of her showing her a path to both. She couldn’t stop smiling.

Since she had chosen to share his bed, many things had fallen into place. In retrospect, that was what Kes had been trying to tell her when she had struggled with the idea of going to his chamber, advice she had been too stubborn to listen. She never thought spending time together would be so important. In the end, the main point didn’t even appear to be the fragile beginnings of conversation, nor the pleasure he gifted to her in abundance. Or, not solely about that. What mattered most was the silent moments when nothing much was said or done. The knowledge she gained during those seemingly meaningless moments ended up being the key that turned the stranger into a husband, the enemy into a companion, and the mystery into someone familiar and secure.

If his day had been trying, unresolved problems weighing on his mind, he came upstairs shoulders tense, eyes unseeing. On such evenings, the quiet made her uneasy, his heavy breathing bringing up memories she hoped she would eventually forget. He never came to her angry, though. The worst she had seen of him was on their wedding day in his drunken, irritated, frustrated demeanor. But he rarely spoke of his dark thoughts either and she didn’t dare to ask, even though she sometimes wondered if sharing their troubles would make both their burdens lighter. Instead, she retreated to her own chamber and closed the door relieved that she had kept a space that was hers and hers alone.

His excitement and elation, on the other hand, were evident the second he entered the room. Not so much on his face that remained a steady calm regardless of his feelings, but in the lightness of his steps and the way he sat closer than usual, gravitating near as if sharing his joy was something both physical and verbal. He tended to start with a tentative remark, and at her short nod indicating her interest, he then continued, describing his thoughts in length and detail, unable to keep inside whatever prospects fueled his spirit. She was happy to listen. After all, his plans were her plans too.

And then there was his passion, a treasure he still kept carefully hidden and tightly controlled, although she couldn’t understand why. Did he not realize that the depth of his desire was plain to see every time she undressed? Did he not know that his hunger for her didn’t frighten her anymore? Then again, maybe he was only holding on to his promise never to pressure her. 

Whatever the reason, his desire was rarely anything seen. It was felt. It was a shift in the silence, a suspense and a question, cautious and shy, waiting for her permission to emerge. Those evenings, she smiled to herself long before they went to bed. The tingle at her core had time to spread and grow, and oh how she enjoyed teasing him as if she hadn’t noticed his longing. Or maybe he read her equally well. Maybe her desire wasn’t any better veiled than his and she was an open book for him to read too. But once lying together under the covers, be it him or her who got there first, all they needed was one look into each other’s eyes. The rest came with the ease of the wind.

The man who had raced her out of the castle and waited for her near the forest line, eyes sparkling and a victorious grin on his lips, radiated a side of him she had yet to meet. A playfulness, more fitting of a boy, not a man in his prime, and certainly not a king.

“Took you long enough. Should we slow down?”

She threw him a glare, but the impact was ruined by the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Without the castle walls and the staff around reminding her of her position and duties, she felt different too. Carefree, bold, and adventurous, slightly mischievous too, like the girl she had been before Trebus, before Bloomington, before Justin and her father. She let the wave of melancholy rise, then subside, and sighed. Almost two years had passed since she’d said goodbye to that girl, never expecting her to return. And somehow, here she was, in a foreign land with a bruised heart and a wounded spirit, slowly healing, a little older and certainly wiser, but still her.

The direct heat of the sun shifted into a pleasant shade as they entered the forest. With the rays of sunlight filtering through the large oak trees and the steady rhythm of the horse soothing her over-active mind, she steered to his side and breathed in the quiet. Not that her thoughts ever truly rested. But from that calm, she found the certainty to bring up an issue that had bothered her since the day she had been given the keys of Dorvan. Talking with him had gradually become easier, but the matter she wanted to discuss was beyond her authority and thus something she had hesitated interfering with. 

She decided to dive straight in.

“Did you know B’Elanna is unhappy?”

To her surprise, his response wasn’t a frown or a shrug, but a burst of laughter. “When B’Elanna is unhappy, _everyone_ knows about that. What is it this time?”

“It’s about her responsibilities as steward. She wants to go back to the barracks. Lord knows why, but she does.”

His amusement faded. “Ah. That.”

“I’m aware it isn’t my place to decide her position outside the house, but she’s been putting off her dreams for a long time, and I think my arrival brought her hopes up again. She’s very good with the staff, even though she’s started to lash out her frustration, but I’ve seen her train for battle and I really believe that’s where her true passion and talent lie,” she said in one breath.

His look was long, her investment in B’Elanna’s fate clearly puzzling him. Then he nodded in agreement.

“This was never meant to be a permanent arrangement. My old steward passed away at a time when I wasn’t sure who to trust and B’Elanna, with her experience of managing a household, felt like a logical, safe choice. But yes, she’s been telling me she wants a change.” A brief smile passed his lips at a memory. “You should have seen the amount of gold she spent on our wedding, just to convince me she couldn’t handle finances. She must have been thrilled when you took those duties to your responsibility. The problem is, she hasn’t offered me any alternatives. In her own words, the staff is nothing but a bunch of petaQ’s she wouldn’t trust to wipe her bat’leth clean.”

“Lately, her opinions have begun to show and people are grumbling. There are a few I could recommend for training, but I might actually have a solution sooner than that, if I may, my lord.”

Chakotay smiled at her formality. “By all means, my lady.”

“My personal maid, Kes,” she started, and the minor shift in his expression told her his thoughts were the same as everyone else’s when they met the petite woman. That she was young and soft, lacking decisiveness and natural leadership the position required. Chakotay’s doubts only fueled her resolve. “Kes has been with me since she was thirteen. She’s managed a multitude of chores in three different noble households and at times when I was… incapacitated, she took over my responsibilities. With great success, I might add.”

He still looked skeptical. “The staff may appear easy to handle, but they’re used to a firm hand keeping them in line. Besides, she’s Federation. I’m not sure if–”

“With all due respect, the staff had reservations about me too. You should give them more credit. From everything I’ve seen, their discipline and deference to authority come mostly from the inside, not from orders given above. And Kes, she may not raise her voice, but she’s smart, efficient, and organized, and has her ways to keep order. Not a single detail goes unnoticed from her and she doesn’t hesitate to deal with problems when they arise.”

His lips curled into a small smile. “Seems to me like you have this well thought out. Why haven’t you come and talk with me about this sooner?”

“I’ve tried to act within the boundaries of my role. The lady deals with all matters inside the house, while the lord rules everything on the outside, right? B’Elanna’s position falls into the hands of the king and his marshal, I believe.”

“I have no problem with you reaching beyond domestic matters, Kathryn. If it’s what you want, I’ll gladly offer you a place in the high council too. Help me run the kingdom, as a queen should. As to Kes, if you judge her ready and capable, I have no opposition.”

Her heart skipped a beat. And then another. 

They’d never talked about her future role explicitly, even though she had been fairly sure her coronation was only a matter of time. Now, in a few casual lines, he had offered not only the crown and the title, but also true leadership, a place at the table where the most significant decisions were made, the destiny of a nation forged. The pieces of her life moved another step closer to completion.

Throat tight, unable to find proper words to thank him, she nodded. “Kes will be pleased. As will B’Elanna.”

“Not to mention Ayala, to have his most promising officer, tactician, and trainer back. The soldiers won’t be so delighted though. She’ll beat the hell out of them simply for the joy of finally being back in the training range. The Doctor might have a few complaints as well.”

“Let me deal with the Doctor. We’ve reached an understanding over the months. He’s really rather charming. In his own way.”

She sat back in the saddle, gathering her thoughts. The swiftness and ease with which they had managed to discuss a crucial, potentially difficult issue was confusing. The most she had really expected was for him to listen politely, then question her suggestions before making it clear that although her opinions were tolerated, she shouldn’t get her hopes up for anything to change.

“While we’re talking about our staff,” he continued in the same casual tone, “I’ve been considering transferring Tuvok to the northern garrison. They need a new commander soon, and I feel Tuvok’s knowledge would be a great advantage. Ayala didn’t agree, which was the reason for his outburst today, but he’ll adjust. He always does.”

She didn’t need to be explained what a huge sign of trust and respect the promotion was. The northern garrison was Trebus’ main defense, the largest stronghold stationed close to the Cardassian border. No wonder Ayala had lost his composure. If he really saw her as another Seska, he would be terrified of hearing Chakotay’s plans, probably believing she had maneuvered the whole thing, regardless of Tuvok’s merits.

Again, Chakotay seemed to be waiting for her opinion.

“Tuvok will appreciate the honor and the challenge. I have no doubt he will meet and exceed your expectations.”

“He would also be closer to Dorvan,” Chakotay added softly. “I know how much he means to you. I’ve never seen you happier than when you returned from your visit to him.”

She looked at him. Perhaps for the first time, she really looked. Past the Maquis, past the king. Even past the husband she had grown to trust.

“You’re not the man I thought you would be,” she finally said, admitting the most honest truth of all.

Like she could have predicted, he dipped his head, tugging at his ear. “Not quite the murderer they paint me to be?”

“It’s more than that. Your ideas are… peculiar. You lead with fairness and compassion. I’ve never heard of a kingdom led by such ideals.”

“Well, Trebus is…”

“...different, yes, I know,” she finished his sentence. “I think I now understand why people gravitate here. And stay.”

He fell silent, pleased by her acknowledgment.

“I’m sorry I was so drunk at our wedding,” he said then. “I wish I had an excuse, but I really don’t. I’m sorry I treated you so badly, and sorry it took me so long to apologize.”

She let the words linger, soaking in the sweetness of his sincere, uncomplicated apology, no matter how late it came.

“Maybe I wasn’t what you expected either?” she offered.

“No, you most certainly weren’t. In all the best ways. But I didn’t realize that until afterward.”

“Well, I did come to Trebus prepared for war. And I’m sorry about that, too.”

The rest of the journey, they didn’t speak much, but like so often these days, she had no trouble reading the silence. It was light and easy as the air around them, warm and peaceful as the sun peeking through the branches. In every way that mattered, her heart was content.

As they proceeded to higher ground, the oaks changed into a thicker, lusher forest and the gently murmuring stream they followed grew wider. Eventually, they arrived at their destination. The trees gave way to an opening in the middle of the wilderness, revealing a dreamlike view. For a moment, she forgot to breathe.

A pond. With crystal-clear waters and rocky banks, surrounded by birches reflected onto the surface. A secluded haven with nature’s own bathtub. She’d never seen anything like it in her life.

“I’ve noticed how much you love to bathe, Kathryn,” he said, tenderness in his voice. “As the lady of the house, it’s your right to order a bath as often as you choose, but carrying the buckets takes a lot of time from the maids and I wanted to show you an alternative. We have several lakes near the castle, but I wanted to bring you here for the beauty. And the privacy.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him, and he lowered his gaze, smiling sheepishly, as he should.

“You can go for a swim if you like,” he prompted. “The water comes from the mountains so it’s a bit cool, but with the heat of the past weeks, it should be pleasant enough.”

The thought of undressing out in the open, in broad daylight and in front of him was somewhat unsettling but casting another glance at the divine opportunity waiting for her, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“I won’t promise not to watch, though.” His openly playful, cheeky tone brought her a smile.

Of course he would watch. Sometimes she felt his eyes never left her.

With the horses secured to a tree, both bending their heads to enjoy the grass in the shade, she walked down to the pond. Focused on her surroundings, she didn’t so much as glance back at Chakotay when she removed her clothes and dipped her toes in the water. All that existed was the sun warm on her face and a blissful cool enveloping her body as she lowered herself in. The bottom of the pond was mostly rock, the water shallow near the edge, allowing her to find a place to sit and rest.

“Aren’t you going to swim?” His question came from a distance behind her, probably meaning to give her a moment by herself.

“I would, but I don’t know how,” she said, running her fingertips on the water’s surface and reveling in the luxury of her large bath. “There weren’t very many lakes where I grew up.”

In the brief silence, she could imagine his surprise.

“We can fix that if you want. B’Elanna can help you. She sometimes teaches the children too. Throws them in the lake and waits for who comes up.”

Kathryn spun around to face him. He couldn’t be serious. Which he wasn’t, naturally, but he was a man with a plan, and the way his eyes devoured the sight of her breasts now bared to his view, grinning without shame, it seemed his plan had worked out perfectly.

“And you?” she asked, turning away from him, rolling her eyes. “You don’t swim?”

“I do. And I quite enjoy it.”

“So what? The water’s too cold for you?” she teased, knowing full well a man’s ego would not allow him to leave her dare unanswered. His steps closed in on her and next he spoke, he was standing right behind her, his voice with an edge of roughness.

“I wasn’t sure if my company was welcome.”

A shiver of anticipation moving through her, she breathed in deeply.

With every beat of her heart, she wanted to turn, wanted to watch him undress for her and see his arousal in full strength again, but the need was too strong to show in the light of the sun. She was barely getting used to the sensation, only beginning to accept that the memories he had imprinted on her body and her mind were so satisfying, so utterly fulfilling, that she needed but one reminder of that bliss and she was ready for him again.

Bending into a man’s desire was easier. Safer. Controllable. The desire burning inside her was everything but. Yet somehow, with each passing week, the dangers seemed harder to remember, the rewards urging her forward on a path she didn’t believe she would ever again travel.

He dived in head-first, obviously knowing the place well to risk such a move, a splash raining on her.

Show-off.

When he surfaced, his grin was wild, a reflection of freedom. He wiped his face and hair, then dived again, remaining unseen a little longer than she was comfortable with and re-emerging at the far side of the pond. He looked simply happy. She watched him swim closer, mesmerized at how accurately she could spot the exact moment his expression changed.

His eyes turned darker, a familiar hunger setting to his jaw, and when he stood before her, waist-deep, rivulets of water running down his chest with the pond glimmering around him, he was every bit the man she eagerly welcomed into her body.

A steady pulse between her thighs, she bit her lip and swallowed.

“Kathryn…” His voice was low and slightly out of breath.

“Yes,” she whispered and pressed her palms on his chest. “Yes.”

She met him halfway in an unhurried kiss, but instead of taking her there, he pulled her into his embrace and stepped back. Solid ground drawn from under her and replaced with breathtaking weightlessness, she gasped and curled her arms tighter around his neck.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, but with his strong arms holding her, cautious of her grown belly yet firm enough to make her feel secure, the question was needless.

Pure joy swelling inside her, she wrapped her legs around his hips, threaded her fingers into his hair, and pressed her lips to his.

“Always.”

Twined together, wet and naked under the sun, even a simple kiss felt sinful, such recklessness surely forbidden. His erection hard against her core, her own flesh throbbing with need, there was no point in waiting. Without breaking the kiss, she reached between their bodies and aligned his length at her entrance, then pushed down on him, moaning into his mouth at the pleasure surging through her.

A firm hand trailed down to her buttock, the other holding her around her waist. The resistance of the water made every motion slow, every thrust a joint effort, coordinated by the certainty and the intimate knowledge of each other. She closed her eyes and sank into the delight of his tongue sliding against hers, his solid length moving inside her, and with her hands caressing his back and shoulders, she could feel the thunder of his orgasm approaching.

“Kathryn,” he murmured, a bewildered sound of awe and surprise, as if he hadn’t had this same pleasure almost every night for the past four months.

She pulled back, taking advantage of the bright midday light that allowed her to see his passion so clearly. Tracing the lines on his forehead, working on his length with a pace and grind she knew he liked, she watched his eyes shoot open in helpless surrender, searching her gaze as if unsure the heaven awaiting was his to take. She whispered his name in response, testing the feel of those syllables, studying the devastating effect of her voice.

He came in an instant. Gripping her tighter, he cried out at his peak, shuddering as he spilled, then buried his face in the crook of her neck as the aftershocks shook him, locking her body to his like he was never letting her go.

Listening to his breath find its usual rhythm, a familiar sense of contentment filled her chest. Somewhere along the way, his pleasure had become a source of joy in itself, a curious detail she would have to study more closely someday. But as he slipped out and shifted his full attention on her, kissing her in a promise to bring her bliss exceeding his own, she was swept into matters more urgent.

He did not disappoint.

And when he carried her to the edge of the pond and laid her head on the grass while her body floated in the water, pressed two fingers inside her and latched his mouth on her sex, she realized through her ecstasy that he had never disappointed her. Not once. He had turned out nothing like she had feared and everything she had hoped for – and more. So much more. From any angle, what they shared was beyond anything reasonable or sane. A force growing stronger by the day, unpredictable in its power, the direction of their path yet to be revealed.

But nearing her climax, she knew nothing of the future. Crying out to the skies above, her body and soul shattering apart under his touch, she only knew she was his. Tied to him with the sweetest of bonds, more real and eternal than the oaths they had pledged before the eyes of God, she was his. And in her heart, she knew with absolute certainty that he was hers too. 

* * *


	9. To love and to cherish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Queen Kathryn by [ carter-sg-1. ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areneth/pseuds/carter-sg-1) One of her many beautiful, inspirational manips.
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“Scarlet or ivory, my lady?”

“Excuse me?” Kathryn glanced up from the riding boots she had been lacing. 

Kes frowned in deep thought, examining two lavish dresses splayed on the bed. “I’ve made changes to both so they’ll fit you beautifully, but I don’t know which to choose. Wearing your wedding dress would be a nice reminder for everyone of how you came to Trebus, almost like a renewal of your wedding vows. Then again, red is the color of power and would signal a strong queen. But the bright color and the low-cut neckline could be judged inappropriate with the baby so clearly showing.”

Considering all the years she had chosen Kathryn’s outfits, her hesitation was unexpected.

Kathryn straightened her back, wincing at the pain provoked by the weight of her growing belly. She laid a reaffirming hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I’m sure everyone has gotten used to the lady not abiding by traditions. Either one is fine with me. You choose, Kes. It will be perfect, as always.”

The woman’s face brightened. Preparing Kathryn for the crowning ceremony the next day was Kes’ last duty as her personal maid before fully stepping into the role of Dorvan’s steward. Even though her worries were needless, they did reveal that the day meant as much to her as it did to Kathryn. As it should. The ceremony was an end of an era and the beginning of a new one, for them both.

“I don’t understand why you have to go riding so close to the rehearsal, my lady. Wouldn’t you rather rest? I can see your back is hurting again, maybe we should ask the doctor to come by?”

Kathryn took her cape. “My back will thank me. Riding has eased the aches before as it will today too. Besides, there’s something I need to take care of before tomorrow.”

Heading to the door, she could feel Kes’ disapproving stare and smiled at her protectiveness. “Everything will be fine, Kes. Don’t worry. I’ll be back before noon and I promise to sit completely still for as long as you want so you can do your magic and make me look like a true queen.”

But once outside, she sighed.

No matter how much she had awaited this day, now that it was here, she felt like standing on the edge of a cliff. The crown she had pursued, believing it to be the answer and the cure to everything that had been wrong in her past, appeared to her now in a completely different light. Not at all the simple solution and the safe harbor she had pictured the position to be, but a lifelong journey on stormy seas where, without support, she and her ship would soon be lost.

Walking down the stairs, a familiar voice called her from the other end of the hall.

“Ma’am lady!”

She turned to the man hurrying to her, apron fluttering, a red rose and a white lily in his hand. “Yes, Mr. Neelix?”

“Disaster!" the man cried out, pushing the flowers to her face as if the gravity of the situation required immediate action. “The great hall was supposed to be flooded with lilies, I even designed the desserts to match with their scent, but now the gardener says there are not enough of them, that they're using roses instead! Roses! I can't serve almond custard tarts with roses, ma'am lady!”

“I do hope we’re not eating the flowers,” she said smiling, but the humor was lost on him. 

“Roses would require something richer, something with an edge, like... like pears in red wine, with a pinch of ginger and cinnamon or, if you prefer, then–” 

She lifted a hand and the man quieted.

“Neelix. Both desserts sound wonderful and I’m certain even the lilies can be arranged if they’re really important. If you’d like to discuss these, Kes is upstairs going through the preparations. Whatever you decide, the dinner will melt in our mouths, as always. You have my full confidence.”

As quickly as his despair had welled, it tempered into a relieved grin and obvious pride at her praise. “I’m delighted to serve,” he said, bowing deeply. “Oh! That reminds me. The bard arrived this morning with an apprentice from the north who allegedly knows how to–”

She interrupted the man again, but he didn’t seem to mind. “I’m sure this is fascinating, but I’d like to keep the details a surprise. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to be.”

“Say no more, ma’am. I shall go and look for Kes, then. And don’t you worry one bit about the dinner. Everyone in the kitchen has worked day and night to honor you with a feast that will be remembered in songs and stories for centuries to come. It will be splendid.”

She nodded and the man went on his way, but even from up the stairs, she could hear him shout, “Magnificent! Spectacular!”

The staff was jittery, like Chakotay had noted, as perhaps was expected. After all, it wasn’t every year a queen was crowned. She could admit to a certain nervousness herself too. The past week, the castle had been bustling with preparations, but with fewer hands at her disposal than she had in Bloomington, some of the arrangements had been left to the last minute. Nevertheless, she had no doubt the staff would manage, with or without her presence. 

For her, there was only one issue that had to be settled before the crowning, but it didn’t involve the man who approached her next.

“Thank God I found you!” the Doctor huffed, raising his hands to the air in prayer.

Deeming it wisest not to encourage him, she greeted him and headed to the stables without pause. The Doctor followed on her tail.

“The King is impossible!” he declared. ”I've asked him repeatedly about the crowning, but all he says is whatever is fine with you will be fine with him. Can you believe that? These are not your decisions to make as you're not the ruler yet which, I believe, is the whole point in this! I cannot understand how he can be so indifferent. The ceremony is the first reflection of your historical joint rule, a moment the people will discuss at length from here to the last wrenched village at the far borders of Trebus, the story passed along from one generation to the next until the ends of time, so I’d say this should have been planned ages ago!”

She took her horse from the stable boy. “What seems to be the problem, Doctor? You give a sermon, I get the crown, right?”

He gasped. “My lady!”

Shoulders slumped in defeat, she pressed her forehead on the horse’s neck, drawing strength from its warmth. Apparently, she would not be allowed to leave before solving every problem. Then she lifted her head and turned to him. “I’m sorry, Doctor. Of course, the details are important. Tell me.”

“Well, first of all, the crown. Will I be the one placing it on your head or will the King? Will you kneel? Will he? Do you want the court to sink down before you or will a bow be enough? I feel it would be a nice touch for the whole room to show their obedience, preferably as close to the floor as they can get. The chaplain excluded, naturally.”

She frowned. “Isn’t there an established tradition to a crowning? How has this been done before?”

The Doctor shrugged. “The last time was Chakotay’s coronation fifteen years ago. He was barely a man, fought his first war against Cardassia, and was announced king on the battlefield after his father was killed. His mother had already passed away years earlier giving birth to his sister and by his father’s choice, she was never crowned queen. Before that, I don’t know. So, no. There is no tradition, my lady. At least none I’m aware of.”

Chakotay had a sister? How did she not know this? And his mother died in childbirth? A sudden cold swept through her at the thought.

“How about we all stand,” she decided. “The King will place the crown on my head, you’ll give us your blessing, and then we’ll greet the court, hand in hand as we did after our wedding ceremony. The court can bow, but you will not ask them to grovel before us. Not unless you’re prepared to do that yourself first.”

The man pouted. “Fine. But I think you're missing a brilliant opportunity to enjoy a moment of absolute silence and subordination. Won't happen often, I can assure you, but fine. What about an arch of swords? People love demonstrations of power. Oh, and the commander kneeling before you, acknowledging you as his queen and ruler. An entire army backing up your position truly is the most convincing symbol of authority, don’t you think?”

She froze at his words.

Yes, it certainly would be. And not only a symbol. Having the army commander recognize her as the queen of this kingdom was probably more meaningful than anything else. Without it, the crown was only a piece of jewelry, the title an empty honor. But whether she had that support was still a mystery to her. Unfinished business she should have taken care of weeks ago.

“Commander!” the Doctor called. “What a coincidence! We were just discussing you.”

Ayala marched toward them across the courtyard, his face dark as the skies on the horizon.

Sending for him, compelling him to come by the order of his queen-to-be hadn’t been her preferred strategy, but he had left her with little choice. After avoiding her all summer, he had taken a three-week trip to oversee the construction of a fortress built on the newly acquired land on the Federation border, returning a day before her coronation. She knew he wouldn’t be happy to be dragged away from his duties, but talking with him was necessary.

“Chaplain. M’lady. Ready to go?” 

He barely looked at her, but she refused to let his brusque demeanor discourage her.

“Absolutely. Will you help me, Doctor?”

The man’s eyes widened as if he’d only now realized she was standing by a saddled horse. “You’re going riding? Did we not discuss this? Multiple times! You shouldn’t–”

“Please,” she said in a quiet voice, touching his arm. “It’s a short ride and I promise we’ll go slow. We’ll be back well before the rehearsal.”

Grumbling his disapproval but giving her a leg up anyway, the Doctor glared at Ayala. “If she falls, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

Ayala didn’t respond, and with a heavy heart, Kathryn thanked the Doctor and nudged her horse to a walk.

Some naïve, optimistic part of her had hoped that Ayala would at least be curious, open to hearing why she had invited him. But as she led them out of the castle and onto the path away from town, she realized he already knew. Riding a few steps behind her, far enough to avoid both eye contact and conversation, he made it clear he was there by order, not by choice, and anything she wished to achieve with their time together would be left to her initiative and effort.

Heading down to the valley and towards the lake glimmering in the distance, she concluded there would not come a better moment no matter how long she waited.

“Come ride next to me, Commander.”

She hadn’t told Chakotay where she was going. In fact, after their trip to the mountains, she hadn’t confided in him about her ongoing problems with Ayala at all. Even though her attempts to resolve their differences had repeatedly failed, leaving Chakotay out felt crucial. If she had so much as hinted that she needed help, Chakotay would have made it his priority to settle the matter, even if it meant taking her side against Ayala, and that was the last any of them needed. The two men shared a bond that was rooted deep in their childhood, a bond that formed a solid base for leading and defending Trebus. She had no interest in coming between them. But if she wanted to be considered an equal, a leader on her own right, she needed to find a way to form an understanding with Ayala. Without Chakotay’s involvement. 

“I trust your travel went well?” she asked as Ayala caught up with her. “How is the construction proceeding?”

“Nothing unexpected, m’lady. The site is on the other side of the mountains, next to a steep rock wall, so the building will be slow, but she will be our strongest defense when ready.”

Although he was reluctant to speak with her, he seemed pleased to talk about the project.

“We can only hope King Owen will respect the marriage contract and keep away long enough for the fortress to be finished. In a few years, we should have a good foothold in the area.”

“What do you mean?” he asked in a sharp tone. “Do you know something of King Owen’s plans?”

She cursed in silence. “No, that’s not what I meant. Owen is renowned for his erratic, quick changes of mind. His commitment to any treaty is as thin as a morning mist. If he sees an alternative that benefits him or the Federation more, he won’t hesitate to break any treaty, especially one forged with Trebus.”

“I see. As Federation, you would know.”

Despite her sincere wish to find a way to connect with him, she could feel her temper rising. He wasn’t even pretending to be respectful anymore.

“Watch your tongue, Commander. I value your opinion as much as Chakotay, but I won’t tolerate disrespect.” 

Seeing him purse his lips, his face hardening into his usual cold distance, she cursed again.

“My apologies, m’lady,” he managed from behind gritted teeth, but she didn’t want his apologies. She wanted his honesty. And she was done dancing around the issue.

“This needs to end, Ayala,” she said and turned her full focus to him, letting her words flow on instinct. “You don’t trust me, I get that, and I understand you have your reasons too. It’s your duty to protect the kingdom and a certain amount of suspicion is wise. But what I don’t understand is why, after six months, we’re still in the exact same position as we were when I first arrived at Dorvan. I’m still a stranger to you, still a threat. Anything I do doesn’t seem enough to prove my good intentions to you, and I would really like to hear why.”

He didn’t respond, only stared ahead, his lips a straight line. Not that she had expected their conversation to be easy.

“As from tomorrow, I will be your queen, and the way I see it, a kingdom with a queen and the leader of her army on opposite sides makes for a weak kingdom. Trebus doesn’t need this extra burden. Neither does Chakotay. So what is it? And don’t tell me about Seska. I know everything about her betrayal.”

For a moment, it looked like he was about to say something, but at the mention of Seska, his mouth snapped shut.

Seska was the key, she knew that much. Compared to Chakotay, Ayala’s guilt seemed out of proportion. As if his failure was personal, not merely a professional mistake, the memories evoked by Kathryn’s arrival.

“How can I convince you I’m not like her? That I’m here to stay, to devote my life to this land? That I want to stand by Chakotay’s side, like you do, to support him and to serve to my best ability?”

Her open, direct approach did reach him, but his response was not what she had anticipated.

“You have strange ways to show your goodwill and noble cause,” he said slowly, his voice dark and unconvinced. “Sending Tuvok to spy on us? I can’t imagine why you needed military information to make a decision about marriage.”

“Tuvok was here to gather information on Chakotay only,” she said firmly. ”And, well, a little on the people too. The Maquis have a horribly violent reputation, you know that.”

“And coming to your wedding armed with seven knives? What kind of a bride does that?”

She wanted to say ‘a terrified one’ but it was too close to truths she rather kept hidden from anyone else than Chakotay. “Like I said. Knowing the Maquis reputation, I was prepared to defend myself. Can you truly blame me?”

Ayala’s snort was full of scorn, but at least he was talking. “You have an answer to every question, don’t you? I have to hand it to you, though. You replaced B’Elanna with your personal maid with a speed that got my head spinning. Manipulating Chakotay to promote Tuvok to lead the Northern garrison was a smooth move too. And with Cavit rising in the ranks in the South-East garrison, it seems you have two out of five of our defenses covered. But I have Dorvan and as long as I’m standing, you haven’t won. I just hope Chakotay will come to his senses while he still has a kingdom to defend.”

His view dawned on her in one dreadful flash.

She should have come to him sooner. A lot sooner.

“What I haven’t figured out is your endgame. Are you planning on getting Chakotay killed once you’re crowned queen and the prince is born? Rule on the child’s behalf until he reaches maturity? Or maybe you’re planning on delivering Trebus into the waiting hands of King Owen? Tell me, what was your price for such a daring mission, hmm? Did Owen offer you the province as a reward, to rule Trebus however you saw fit, or did you want your payment the traditional way, gold for spreading your legs for a king?”

Had they been walking, she would have slapped him. But as they were, she could only clench the reins in her fists, back straight to keep herself from trembling, unable to speak in her rage.

As if realizing he had gone too far, he lowered his eyes under her glare and fell silent. Even in this moment of brutal honesty, the limits were clear. He wasn’t invincible. One word from her to Chakotay would be the end of him. The fact that he seemed to grasp this gave her the reassurance that the struggle to make him understand was worth continuing.

“Follow me, Commander,” she said coldly and urged her horse forward, knowing he would follow, duty-bound to keep her safe regardless of his feelings.

But as she led them deeper into the forest, the town and its busy people left far behind, it occurred to her that she was actually giving him the perfect opportunity to get rid of her. The perfect place, the perfect time. Very similar to the circumstances where her first husband had met his death. Alone in the wilderness, so many things could go wrong. Falling from a bolting horse and hitting her head. Going for a swim and overestimating her strength. Or simply getting lost, never to be seen again. There would be questions later, but nothing Ayala wouldn’t be able to explain.

Why she wasn’t afraid, she couldn’t tell, but her instincts told her she had nothing to fear. Beneath his expressed emotions lay a deeper truth, she was sure of it, but she had no way to pry that information if he chose to keep it hidden. What she could do was focus on the problem at hand.

How could she have underestimated the situation so badly? If she pushed aside her hurt and looked at the events from his perspective, yes, in theory, all he had said could be true. His thinking was defensive, overprotective, and unreasonably suspicious, but the logic behind it was flawless. There wasn’t really anything she could say to prove him wrong.

Nothing she could say… But there was something she could show.

She had so little to lose. Without his support or at least acceptance, her influence would forever end at the castle walls. Any attempt to make a difference on matters more meaningful than everyday house chores and entertainment for noble guests would be blocked by the knowledge that her authority wasn’t backed up, her position ceremonial at best.

A year ago, she would have been content with such a simple, sheltered existence. But not anymore. 

Reaching the lake, she slid off her horse.

“You seem to think I’m on good terms with King Owen, Commander,” she said, tying her horse to a nearby tree. “That I was content before I came here, that I have something worth waiting for in the Federation.”

She took off her riding gloves and dropped them to the ground, her cape and hat following suit.

He leaned forward on the saddle and raised a brow. “Well, aren’t you? The daughter of King Edward; beautiful, smart, and ambitious. So you got mistreated by your husband. That happens. Surely you’ve managed to make yourself valuable for the new king, find ways to manipulate him to get yourself a better life.”

She bent over to undo her boots and peel down her stockings.

“What are you doing? Are you going swimming?”

She ignored his questions.

“Did you know I have a sister, Ayala?” she asked and glanced up. He only narrowed his eyes. “Well, perhaps you didn’t. Her name is Phoebe and she’s married to Owen. How she’s doing, I have no idea. None of my messages have been answered. I suspect Owen has found a way to get to them first.”

She stood up and started untying the front of her dress. Ayala got off his horse, watching her every move, her casual tone and sudden change of topic clearly alarming him all over again. She didn’t let his suspicion bother her.

“Phoebe and I first met Owen two days after our father’s passing. He marched to the Golden Gate with his army, taking over the castle as if he had won it through battle. Two guards came to take us to the great hall where we found him sitting on the throne, giving out orders like he was already king while our father wasn’t even buried yet.”

The laces loosened and she took the dress off, leaving her in an undershirt. Ayala immediately spun around, cursing under his breath.

“No. You will watch,” she ordered and walked to him, gripping his arm, demanding his attention.

“I knew it,” he hissed in her face and yanked his arm free. “You’re _exactly_ like her.” 

And in that careless moment, his guard temporarily down, she could see it all. Why he saw her as a threat, why he couldn’t trust her, why he wanted to stay as far away from her as possible. The haunted look in his eyes revealed a guilt carved into the core of his being, a remorse he would carry for the rest of his days, a betrayal not of a beautiful woman but of a lifelong friend.

“I’m not Seska,” she said in the calmest voice she could muster. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Whatever happened between you and her has nothing to do with me. You don’t know me, at all, and still you judged me before I even came to Trebus. Now listen to me. Please.”

She took a few steps back, giving him the space he seemed to need. Even though he stared over her head and into the distance, refusing to look at her, he appeared to be listening.

“That day, Owen greeted me with two options: the convent or marriage to a lord with a shady reputation. He told me both options were fine with him as they would teach me humility and keep me away from his sight. When I replied that I preferred to claim the throne instead, he looked at me – an arrogant, ignorant girl – like I was a threat to him, walked to me, and took me by the throat, smiling as I gasped for air and struggled to get free. The last thing I heard before I passed out was Phoebe’s cries and Owen’s promise that if I ever so much as whispered such ideas again, my sister would pay the price.”

Ayala’s face remained blank. Whether he believed her or not didn’t matter. Telling the story was painful, but also liberating, somehow. Like a glance at a past that had no hold on her anymore.

She let the last piece of clothing slid off her shoulders, leaving her standing before him bared in every sense of the word. The brief drop of his gaze was barely visible.

“That encounter didn’t leave a mark, of course, not on the outside anyway, so you could always argue it didn’t happen. Three days later, my sister was married to Owen and I was delivered into the hands of my husband. And this,” she turned around and pulled her hair away to reveal her scarred back. His intake of breath was sharp. “…this is how Lord Johnson greeted me. From the first night until the last. Until I sent Tuvok to kill him on a hunting trip while I was away. Which Tuvok did. Out of compassion, out of love, out of all the affection he never shows. My debt to him will never be paid. He is the most loyal man you’ll ever have serve you, even if you never recognize his worth.”

She turned back to see a man with a tight jaw and clenched fists.

“And this,” she continued, placing her palms on her round, swollen belly where she could feel the restless kicks of a new life, “…this is how Chakotay greeted me. With open arms and a warm heart, gifting me safety, freedom, and purpose. Offering me his trust, respect, and love well before I had done anything to deserve them.” She let her hands fall to the side. “So tell me, Ayala, where do you think my loyalties lie? If there ever came a time I had to choose sides, who do you think I will defend? A king who took away my life, or the man who gave it back to me, tenfold?”

Apart from his gaze returning to a point in the distance, there was no reaction from him.

She sighed, disappointment heavy in her chest. Gaining an understanding and a connection to this man was important to her. Not only because of her position, but because of the peace it would bring to their home. The peace it would bring Chakotay. But there was little more she could do.

Spreading her hands, hiding nothing, she looked at him once more. “I already have the trust of many in Dorvan, including B’Elanna whose opinion I know you value. You are Chakotay’s most loyal officer, the commander of his army, and his oldest friend. Before accepting the crown, I would have liked to have gained your trust too. But if not, I’ll prove myself to you eventually. I’m not going anywhere, Ayala. One day, we’re going to have to find a way to get along.”

The embarrassment of her undressed state and useless honesty kicking in, she lowered her eyes, blinking away the sting of defeat. “I think I’ll take a quick swim. We’ll head back after that.”

She walked to the lake and stepped onto the stones, half-hidden beneath the water, more slippery than she thought.

The time to react was so very short.

Her foot slipped, her balance faltered, but instead of falling, a strong arm caught her and pulled her near.

“Jesus Christ, woman!”

For a few seconds, they both stood frozen. The shock in his voice echoed the fear surging through her veins, the extent of her luck hitting her consciousness. Then the trembling began. Violent and uncontrollable, her mind whirling with memories of the child she never got to hold and her own stupid recklessness threatening to take away this life as well.

Beyond the frantic beating of her heart, she was faintly aware of his breath in her hair and his arms around her naked body, holding her tight as all strength drained from her. She looked up, unsure what she would find, but his eyes were clouded with more emotion than she could read. Without the will or strength to rebuild the walls around him, he looked exhausted, worn out from a battle he had fought with himself for too many years. 

He released her slowly, making sure her own feet supported her again. 

“Could you please not go swimming?” he asked then, the softness and uncertainty in his voice a striking contrast to his earlier biting coldness. She gave him a shaky nod. “Could you also please come ride with me the way back? I really don’t want to be responsible for the queen falling off her horse and losing her child the day before her coronation.”

Everything around her seemed unreal. His tenderness, her vulnerability, the honesty and openness without a resolution. She didn’t know this man who had emerged from beneath the dark, quiet officer, but pulling on her dress, she knew she was done fighting him.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry if I put you in a difficult position.”

They rode back in silence. His arms around her, keeping her safe from the world and perhaps from herself too. She had no idea if she had managed to ease the situation or make it worse, but the air between them was different. Heavy with everything said and left unsaid, but a truce, nonetheless.

As the castle emerged into sight, reminding them of the reality they would return to, he gifted her one more truth.

“You’re right, m’lady. I don’t know you. Maybe you are the best thing that has ever happened to Trebus like Chakotay says. Maybe that’s his love-sick mind clouding his reason again. But I know my own mistakes, and I cannot, will not, forget them.” She held her breath as he paused. “I should have realized Seska’s true nature sooner. Should have seen through her flattery, her questions, her facade. I should have known and I should have said no when she... but like a fool, I believed her every lie. Chakotay’s affection blinded him, but I had no such excuse. I should have protected him. Everyone. Living with the blood of a thousand lives on my hands isn’t something a man should forget.”

She sent out a prayer for her words to come out right this time, in a way he would accept.

“No, I agree, you shouldn’t forget. That’s how we learn. But if you let those past mistakes color the world you see today, you’re just as blind now as you were back then. Trebus deserves better. So does Chakotay. And, frankly, I deserve better too. Seska was an exception, not a rule. Clinging on to the pain she caused isn’t going to help us build a future, Commander. Working together will.”

He spoke no more and neither did she, but in her heart, she knew their time had not been in vain. He had listened, understood, and, at least for a moment, stepped out of his private prison and seen new possibilities beyond old threats. If not tomorrow, then one day, he would stand by her side.

* * *


	10. Till death us depart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another gift from the lovely [ Torri012. ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torri012)
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* * *

Kathryn sat on her bed, hands folded on her lap. In silence, in solitude. 

With nothing to do but wait, she focused on the warm light of the autumn sun filtering through the windows and the specks of dust dancing in the air. Her thoughts everywhere and nowhere at once.

How much would she remember of this day later?

Would she remember fiddling with her wedding ring, revisiting the moment it was pressed to her finger, how scared and angry she had been? Would she remember looking back to the months after that, wondering how thoroughly her life had changed, how thoroughly she had changed?

Or would she recall her sweaty palms and dry throat, the uncertain flutter of her heart she tried her best to control? Her rational mind repeating again and again that there was absolutely nothing to be nervous about, that she had been born to take this responsibility and rise to this position, that the ceremony was merely an obligation, something to live through to get to her goal?

Maybe she wouldn’t remember this moment at all. Maybe the noise and the hassle and the years to come would wipe away any memory of the woman who had sat alone in her chamber, dressed in red and black, her image on the full-length mirror looking every bit like a queen, yet her large eyes reflecting echoes of the girl she used to be.

With all her heart, she hoped she wouldn’t forget. For all the years she had ahead, all the challenges and losses still unknown to her, she wanted this day stored in her memory as a reminder of how she had ended here. With resilience, courage, and incredible luck. 

But when the guards opened the chapel doors to a room bathed in sunlight, a soulful hymn filling the air and all eyes turning to her, she knew she had nothing to worry about. She would not forget.

Standing at the entrance, the contrast to the day six months ago could not have been more striking. All around her, she saw faces she recognized. People who had come to her for help and advice, people who had helped her in return. She wasn't among strangers anymore, hiding behind a shield of arrogance, fearing the man she was to marry, the country she knew only by reputation, and the future she had chosen for the lack of a better option. She was a part of a community, already accepted, already a leader. 

Heart full and steps light, her travel down the aisle was much faster than the previous time, an observation Chakotay felt compelled to whisper to her before the sermon began. She threw him a playful glare for his comment, the chaplain then glaring at them both in disapproval, the whole exchange so unbecoming of all their positions that she had to bite her lip not to laugh.

Listening to the chaplain’s voice rise and fall with words of doom and redemption, she was once again caught by a strange sense of contentment. Like she was exactly where she was meant to be in this world. The feeling had grown over the summer until it had become her daily companion but even though it would still take a while to get used to such a steady calm, the source of that happiness wasn’t a mystery.

From the start, Chakotay had been leading her toward this day. Even when she was still locked inside past pain, he had been able to picture this goal and the means to get here. At first, she hadn’t been aware of the silent work he was doing.

When he had traveled away the morning after their wedding, she had concluded there were urgent matters that required his attention. Later, she had interpreted his withdrawal from domestic concerns as a lack of time and interest. But as she expressed her wishes to expand her duties beyond the castle walls and he started to bring her matters stretching to the far reaches of the kingdom, matters and decisions clearly belonging to a ruler, she understood.

In the most discreet and compassionate manner, he had given her all the time she needed to settle into her new home, trusting in her ability to find her way, allowing her to fulfill her role as she saw fit. But most of all, he had created her a space to heal and adjust, to grow into becoming a leader.

Even if his reasons to marry were the same as any man’s – claiming a woman to warm his bed, to take over the household, and to give him an heir – with a hefty marriage treaty sealing his decision, he had always hoped for more. Someone strong enough to challenge him, brave enough to contradict him. Someone who would not hesitate to point out his mistakes and flaws, and offer him an alternative, solutions different from his. Someone to share both his life and his rule with. A companion and an equal.

She had no comparison, maybe that’s why it took her so long to understand him. In the Federation, a woman’s role was much more conservative, narrow and limited, defined by invisible boundaries preventing women from pursuing their ambitions and applying their intelligence and drive. But as she gradually learned more of Trebus, she found Chakotay’s stance to be common among the Maquis. And this opened her eyes to yet another perspective on the country and its proud, headstrong people.

‘Everyone is needed,’ Chakotay had once said. But how do you govern people who know their worth? How do you command someone who believes their voice should be heard?

Over the months, Chakotay had shown his way. Ruling with wisdom, patience, and an open mind. By seeking strengths instead of problems, possibilities instead of threats, placing faith where it wasn’t always grounded, and striving for the best possible compromise.

To become the leader of this nation wasn’t simply a birthright. She knew that now. If she ever misused her power, she would end up dead on her next riding trip. Instead, she would have to earn her position, over and over again, a task made all the more challenging by the constant threat of war and winters without mercy. 

Trebus was so very small. Not weak, but certainly vulnerable. To keep its people safe and steer them into the future was a lifelong duty, not a privilege or a luxury.

And so when Chakotay pressed the modest gold crown on her head and announced her Queen Kathryn, the leader of Trebus, then knelt before her with every soul in the room following suit, what took her breath away wasn’t the title she had chased her entire life. It was the trust placed upon her.

For a few heartbeats stretching into eternity, she looked around her. An ocean of heads bent before her, a total silence descended upon the chapel, time itself standing still.

The Doctor had been right. Details were important.

Then Chakotay lifted his head and gave her a dimpled smile, and the world was back on its track.

Taking his hand, feeling his strength beside her as they turned and greeted the court, she knew she was ready. She wasn’t angry or afraid anymore. She didn’t feel uncertain or alone, caught in between two worlds, but stood with her feet firmly on one ground, welcoming the responsibility, come what may.

In the great hall, sitting at the high table with Chakotay, she listened to the lively chatter as the guests poured in. She remembered well the last time she’d sat here, trying so hard to hide her insecurity, shocked at the customs that felt so coarse. The feast still wasn’t glamorous, at least not by any Federation standard, but inhaling the scent of lilies and roses mixed with the smoke from the fireplaces, watching the maids carry a wealth of dishes to the tables with the proud master chef overseeing the service by the side door, she wouldn’t have changed a thing.

Apart from the few curious gazes at her waistline, her round belly proving the rumors true, everyone seemed more excited to dive into dinner and entertainment than gossip about her. As if she was already one of them and her coronation just a natural extension to her marriage. As it should be. This time, it was her turn to notice the one person she didn’t recognize.

A boy, roaming from one long table to the next with a wine pitcher in hand, stumbling over his own feet, apologizing left and right.

“The farmer’s son,” Chakotay confirmed her suspicion. “He arrived a few days ago. B’Elanna promised to take him under her wing which means the poor lad is no doubt missing home by now.”

His remark was light, but the words resonated within her. She knew far too well what it felt like to be far away from familiar faces. Although, to her view, the boy didn’t look like he was about to give up. Just unaccustomed to the surroundings and the chores that probably differed from what he had expected. But becoming a knight began from practicing service and social etiquette, battle skills would come in time.

Nevertheless, he did appear to be the only person in the room interested in her, stealing sideways glances at her then turning away, embarrassed to get caught yet unable to keep from staring again the very next minute. When he raised his head, she motioned for him to come closer.

“M… Ma’am? Sir?”

Over the years, she’d seen plenty of pages, but never one so painfully awkward and out of place. Despite his weather-beaten face and hands hardened in labor, he didn’t seem to fit neither the fields where he came from nor the garrison where he wanted to belong. He wasn’t really even a boy anymore but nearly a man, much older than most at the beginning of their training. But he was eager to please, bowing deeply then standing so straight and uncomfortable that her own back ached in sympathy.

“At ease, boy, before you sprain something,” she said, relieved to see him relax. “What’s your name?”

“H…Harry, Ma’am.”

She frowned. “The lady of the house is addressed as ‘My Lady’, Harry. After today, the correct title would be ‘Your Grace’ or ‘Your Majesty’, but since neither fits the Maquis tradition and I’m not fond of ‘Ma’am’, I suggest you address me as ‘My Lady’.”

The boy blushed and nodded, daring a peek at her, then quickly lowering his eyes again.

“I hope Dorvan has welcomed you well. Don’t let B’Elanna scare you, though. She may have a bad mouth and a horrible temper, but she won’t bite. You’ll learn a lot from her.”

“Yes, my lady,” the young man muttered, evading her gaze.

She furrowed, trying to read his uneasiness. “What is it? Speak up, boy. You’ve come too long a way to stay silent now.”

He turned the pitcher in his hands, the gesture a perfect reflection of his father in the same situation. “It’s just… Becoming a knight was my father’s wish. I… My wishes are different, my lady.”

“Different? What do you mean different?” Beneath her confusion stirred an irritation. The boy had been offered an amazing opportunity to rise from the fields to become a soldier, even a knight if he succeeded in his training. What more could he possibly want?

The delay in his reply was telling. He was aware of the risk he was taking.

Breathing in deeply, he squared his shoulders and looked her straight in the eyes. “I wish to be a clerk, my lady.”

She couldn’t have been more surprised if he had wanted to travel to the moon.

“You can read?” Her shocked voice drew questioning looks from the lords and ladies nearby and the boy seemed to shrink under the attention.

Only a handful of people in the entire castle could read and write, maybe a few more in town, but she had never heard of a farmer with any formal education whatsoever.

“Yes. Or no, not exactly. The priest in our village has taught me to read a little, and I found it fascinating and would like to learn more,” the boy babbled, his nervousness channeling into a free flow of thoughts. “I know it’s not my place to ask for anything, my lady, and I would certainly take care of all my chores first, but if I would have access to Dorvan’s books I have no doubt I would learn fast and someday I could be of help in the town or maybe even here in the castle.”

She could only stare at him.

So frail were the wishes of a young soul. To learn, to grow, to become more than what was expected. Somehow, not surprisingly, reminding her of a few others she had come to know.

She didn’t need to consider.

“The books of Dorvan are for anyone to study. Most of them are within the chapel and if you ask politely, the Doctor might even teach you.”

Regardless of the brilliant smile on the boy’s face and the tingling warmth spreading in her chest in response, she was under no illusion about her future role. She knew there would be days when decisions weren’t easy, days when she would be torn with options equally disastrous, outcomes leaving everyone involved displeased, bitter, even revengeful. But this wasn’t one of them.

If she could do this, give someone the chance to push forward in this world, why wouldn’t she?

Who was she to say what this boy would become? Maybe he would be a clerk eventually, serving some noble household or a church, perhaps even Dorvan. Maybe he would find himself back on his father’s farm before spring, failed and frustrated, deeming a life tied to the earth better suited for him, after all. Or maybe he would turn out something even more than a clerk, something none of them, even himself, could imagine. But at least she would know his fate wasn’t determined by obstacles she had set in his path.

She finished her water and slid the glass closer to him. “Now. If you would be so kind and pour your queen some of that fine Trebus wine. I feel like celebrating. But do it quickly, so the Doctor doesn’t see.”

Bringing the glass to her lips, watching the boy step down from the dais and continue his rounds, she caught Chakotay’s stare.

“Interesting first decision as queen, my lady,” he said, a playful spark in his eyes. “Are you planning on educating every child in the kingdom?”

“Why not, my lord?” she said, lifting her chin, not that she had really planned further than this one boy. “You keep saying Trebus is different. Let’s be truly different then.”

He raised his glass. “You’re going to have to speak with the Doctor.”

“I will, first thing tomorrow,” she grinned. “The boy seems hungry to learn, and the Doctor enjoys sharing his knowledge, so who knows? This just might work.”

Pleased with herself, she clinked her glass with his and turned her attention to the center of the room where the bard was beginning a new song, obviously well-known as everyone had fallen silent.

Like most ballads, it told the legend of a mighty warrior who, despite his many victories, lived his life in discontent. Even less surprisingly, the warrior then met a woman, brave and beautiful and very wise, a warrior herself too. 

Unimpressed, Kathryn took a sip and let her gaze wander, puzzled by the serious faces and the downcast eyes. The bard went on and by the time the song reached its shamelessly sentimental last verse describing the warrior finding by her side the true meaning of peace, she realized half of the drunken guests were in open tears, the rest hiding their emotion in their drinks.

She rolled her eyes.

To think that the Maquis were considered tough. If only the rest of the world knew.

After hours of loud laughter, wine and ale and dishes that made leola root feel safe and cozy, of songs and stories growing more indecent toward the night in a feast which, in the end, had less to do with the newly crowned queen and more with the celebration of summer, harvest, and the continuation of life, the great hall had emptied of enough guests that the lord and the lady could honorably retire.

Heading upstairs, she leaned on Chakotay, eyelids heavy and head spinning.

“You may have to carry me,” she murmured against his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have had the wine.”

Chakotay’s laughter rumbled low and warm. “You had one glass, Kathryn.”

“Well, you make a damn strong wine.”

“It’s been a long day, Kathryn. You’re just tired.”

“Not _that_ tired,” she teased and pressed closer to him, snickering to herself when his steps hastened and his arm tightened around her waist.

He was so easy.

Inside their chamber, Chakotay tossed his crown on the table and his jacket to the corner then took her face in his hands.

“You don’t need to rest?” he asked, searching her eyes for reassurance.

She shook her head and smiled, undoing the laces of his shirt.

“And your back isn’t hurting?”

She curled her arms around his neck and threaded her fingers into his hair. “Just kiss me, Your Majesty. I’ve earned that much,” she said and stood on tiptoe to capture his lips with hers.

In between kisses, she pulled off his shirt and he untied her dress, his pants and her undershirt soon added to the piles of clothes scattered on the floor. Pressing into him, skin on skin, she sighed in contentment. His large hands caressing her body was her reward at the end of each day, the magic his touch created for them both a luxury she had long come to rely on.

Perhaps too long.

“To the bed,” she ordered as his mouth descended to her neck and his hand trailed down between her thighs.

Ignoring her command, Chakotay continued stroking her slick sex, round after sweet round teasing her arousal higher while his mouth nibbled her neck, the combination a sure path to her climax. The temptation to give in and surrender to the safe satisfaction his lead would bring was so very real, but tonight, she wanted something different.

The pleasure in her pulsed and grew, spiraling fast to the peak her body hungered. She needed all her willpower to push him away. 

“You… are… impossibly good,” she gasped, palms on his chest to keep him at a distance, the floor beneath her unsteady. His grin wasn’t the least bit apologetic. “To the bed, I said. I want to come with you inside me.”

She led him to the bed and he complied, curiosity in his dark eyes as she motioned him to sit on the edge. With her pregnancy, she wasn’t quite as nimble as she used to be, but taking support from his shoulders, she spread her legs and climbed on his lap, her breath quickening in anticipation. His arms around her, she guided the tip of him to her opening and pressed down, moaning softly at the feel of him sliding into her body.

She closed her eyes, taking in the bliss.

“You’re beautiful, Kathryn,” she heard him whisper, and with every beat of her heart, she knew his words were true. 

She did feel beautiful. Powerful. Unbearably happy.

Dismissing the faint voice at the back of her mind telling her that such perfection couldn’t last, she lifted her hips and sank down on him again, slowly and to the hilt, savoring his groans and their passion that was ultimately hers to control as always. He leaned in to take her nipple into his mouth and she pushed closer, stroking his hair in appreciation. 

On an impulse, she sneaked a hand between them and brushed her finger over her sensitive flesh, something she’d rarely tried even by herself and never with him. She bit her lip not to moan at the added stimulation, but Chakotay noticed, of course he did.

“Go on, Kathryn. Whatever feels good. Just tell me what I can do.”

She met his gaze and nodded, willing away her embarrassment. 

Wetting her lips in concentration, she let herself sink into the sensations. Her own tentative touches on her clit and the fullness of his hard length moving inside her, the pressure deep within when she ground against him. The rapturous sounds from his throat when she squeezed her inner muscles and the delightful swell of his manhood in response.

“Hold me tighter,” she whispered, somehow needing more of him, but unsure what to ask for. 

With one arm wrapping more firmly around her waist and the other cupping her buttock, supporting her moves and keeping her near, their connection did strengthen. Her body humming in pleasure, she rode him faster, her slippery fingers struggling to remain at the right spot, every muscle in her working towards release, but it wasn’t enough. 

“Please, my neck…” 

She tilted her head for him, but even as his mouth latched on her skin and sucked her to a familiar, feverish haze, her instincts were already aching for something more.

It wasn’t until his teeth grazed the delicate nerves below her ear and a triumphant roar flooded her veins that it dawned on her what exactly she craved. 

Something he had carefully avoided because of her past. Something she never thought she’d need.

“Yes... More...”

He lifted his gaze, confused and pleading. “More what? Tell me, please.”

The loss of his mouth was intolerable. 

“My neck, Chakotay! Stop being so damn gentle and bite my neck like you mean it!”

Without hesitation, without question, he did. An experimental nip at first, but as she gripped his hair in frustration and begged for him to go harder on her, to trust she wouldn’t break, a firmer bite on the crook of her neck. 

The pain shot through her like lightning. 

Like a blessing. 

Like a door to an uncharted future she couldn’t wait to explore.

For the life of her, she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. The lingering ache on her skin added its glorious tune to the symphony of sensations, spurring her lust into delirious heights. Moving in perfect unison, a frantic rhythm chasing a shared goal, the tension at her core coiled tighter and when the crest shimmered within her reach, she gasped his name in urgency.

He grabbed her hips in a painful lock and with quick, sharp lunges, he pushed up to meet her moves. His hoarse groans mingling with her desperate cries, her orgasm hit her in a surge of thunder. Her finger slipped and her body arched, but he held her close, riding out the waves with the last shuddering thrusts.

Dizzy, weak, and out of breath, she rested her forehead against his.

“God damn, we’re good,” she panted, her vehement declaration making him burst into a hearty laughter she couldn’t help but join. 

“Yes, we are. Lord help us, we truly are.”

She cupped his face and glanced at him from under her lashes, a crooked smile on her lips. “It’s a good thing we have a kingdom to lead, Chakotay. Otherwise, I wouldn’t let you leave this bed.”

* * *


	11. According to God's holy ordinance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Romantic perfection by [ Jane_dee01. ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jane_dee01/pseuds/Jane_dee01)
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In the dead of an early winter night, warm and sheltered in Chakotay’s arms, Kathryn woke up to a strange sound. Weak and distant at first, like a horn from deep in the woods, the noise infiltrated her consciousness as if part of her dream, then grew more intense, impossible to ignore. In its wake came a dull ache and a tightness around her belly, a familiar and expected sensation, only its timing horribly wrong. 

Chakotay was up and pulling on his clothes before she had even opened her eyes.

“What is that?” she asked although, in her heart, she already knew.

“It’s an alarm from the Badlands. The warning of an enemy approaching.” 

Considering the gravity of the situation, his tone was remarkably even.

His focus already elsewhere, he geared up and left without another word, leaving her stumbling for her clothes until a maid entered the room. Like Chakotay, the older woman was quiet and efficient, her composure as she helped Kathryn get dressed revealing she had experienced similar circumstances before. Probably many times. But for Kathryn, this was the first.

Before now, Kathryn had never lived through an invasion or an attack of any kind. Whatever wars had been fought between the Federation and Cardassia during her childhood had taken place far from her comfortable life inside heavily guarded castles and a luxury untouched by the realities of the world outside. Over unhurried dinners she had heard of strategies and plans to conquer and destroy, powerful men speaking with harsh words and cold tones, but she had been too young to understand and too ignorant to care. She’d missed her father when he was away in battle, worried for him and others dear to her, but the wounds were always stitched and the blood washed off before she saw her loved ones again. And in songs and stories, there were no injured or maimed, no shadows haunting the ones left alive.

No, nothing in her life had prepared her for what awaited outside the safety of her chamber.

The sun hadn’t come up yet, but the entire castle had burst into life. At first glance, it all seemed chaotic; maids carrying firewood, water, food, and gear, every servant up and moving with something to do and somewhere to be, but as she made her way downstairs and through the corridors, the bustle began to take shape. Everyone had a clear purpose and a duty to fulfill. Furthermore, despite the haste, no one seemed particularly worried, only concentrated on the task at hand in a way she wished for herself as well. Her role in case of an attack had never come up with Chakotay. Both had thought they had more time.

Arms wrapped around her middle, instinctively protecting her unborn child, she reached the great hall and slipped silently inside.

An oval table had been carried to the center of the room, a map spread over the surface, four men with furrowed brows and tight jaws standing around it. They took note of her arrival but didn’t interrupt the discussion.

“…at full strength and in position, my lord.”

“Do we know the size of the army?”

“We don’t even know if it’s Cardassia or the Federation. They both have access to the Western passage.”

Unsure of her place or whether she was welcome at all, Kathryn kept her distance and walked slowly around the side of the room, absorbing every piece of information.

“The timing is odd. Has either ever attacked at the beginning of winter?”

“Especially through the Badlands. The slopes are dangerous even in the summer.”

“We need more information. Are the scouts back yet?”

The door slammed open.

“It’s the Federation!” B’Elanna declared and all eyes in the room shifted to Kathryn. The discussion continued the very next second, the attention back on B’Elanna and the information her men had gathered, but the sting of the unvoiced thoughts remained. 

After all this time, after all she had done, in a moment of crisis, she was still Federation. Still an outsider, still a possible traitor.

“How many, B’Elanna?” Chakotay’s steady voice asked.

“Not sure. We have sightings of at least three groups of about forty men each, on both foot and horses. They’ve spread out since leaving the passage and are heading this way.”

“Well, that’s a new one. How far away are they?”

“Within ten kilometers of Dorvan. The rest of the army is probably lagging behind. I’d say they’re going to strike at dawn.”

“Something about this doesn’t add up, my lord,” Ayala said, speaking for the first time. "True, the attack formation isn’t typical for the Federation, but the timing bothers me even more. The Western passage will soon be snowbound and impassable, they know this. Once they set foot on Trebus soil, the army won’t be able to return. Why even attempt an invasion under these conditions?”

Ayala’s thoughts stirred a discussion Kathryn didn’t hear as a faded memory inched its way into her mind.

“A one-way mission,” she muttered to herself, ignoring another tightening of her belly.

“What’s that?” B’Elanna asked, sharp-sensed as always.

Kathryn straightened her aching back. Reminding herself she was still queen, that she not only had the right but also the responsibility to participate, she walked to the table and took her place by Chakotay’s side.

“You should consider the possibility that these troops are not going to attack like you expect, in large formations in broad daylight, tightly led with a clear goal to take over the castle.”

“But that’s exactly how the Federation has always attacked. Every five years or so, they march over the mountains, counting on their numbers, discipline, and well-rehearsed strategies to overcome our defenses.”

She looked at the officer on her left, years of experience written in the grey in his hair and the calm in his eyes. “Trebus isn’t the only one capable of change. A new king brings along new ideas.”

“And you know this how?” a younger officer opposite her asked, an unveiled suspicion and challenge in his question.

Both Chakotay and Ayala were about to reply, to place themselves between the accusations and the queen they would die to defend, but she held up a hand for them to keep their silence, refusing to hide behind their protection.

“Owen spoke of it once,” she said, looking firmly at the officer, then gazed over everyone present. “Instead of a full army and an open attack at Dorvan, his idea was to weaken the Maquis with a series of smaller strikes targeted not against castles and forts but against towns and villages across the kingdom.”

“It would take years and dozens of attacks to achieve anything. We would be able to rebuild faster than they could destroy.”

The young officer’s dismissive tone doubled her resolution to make them see. 

“Not if the attacks came in quick succession over the winter, small groups of men moving fast and unnoticed from one village to the next, burning down houses and storages, poisoning the wells and slaughtering the stock. Even if one group got caught, the others could continue." Her audience now fully listening, she continued. “Owen figured that the fate of a few peasants wouldn't raise a reaction until it was too late. Come spring, there would be too few supplies to replace those used during winter, and Owen could march in with his full army and take over the crippled kingdom without much of a fight.”

Silence followed, but one after another, everyone acknowledged the truth in her words with a nod of the head.

Chakotay spoke first. “If this is what we’re dealing with, we need new ideas as well.” 

“We could ask Tom,” Ayala said, hesitating, as if he wasn’t sure the thought was wise. “As a former Federation officer, he might know more about his father’s plans and have suggestions on how to best defeat this.”

B’Elanna snapped out of her thoughts. “I’ve already sent Harry to fetch him. But the last I saw him, he was in a pretty bad shape.”

“Tom? Owen’s son?” Kathryn interrupted. “You’re holding him here?” Surely she must have misunderstood.

Chakotay gave her a half-smile. “No, we’re not ‘holding’ him. He came here on his own will about a year ago, seeking asylum after disobeying his father’s orders during a battle against Cardassia.”

“And you allowed him to stay?”

“Why not? Does it make a difference that he’s Owen’s son? A man with his background can be useful.”

“If he’d actually been useful,” B’Elanna snorted. “After a few weeks at the garrison, trying to start a new life as a soldier without his name or title, he gave up, went to the tavern, and never came back. I keep dragging him out for a fight every week, but after a few decent rounds, he just takes the beating and crawls back to the bar. I don’t know what King Owen did or said, but he’s left Tom in one hell of a mess.”

“But he could have been a spy!” Kathryn blurted, then realizing she had voiced everyone’s concerns about her as well. “He could have been reporting straight to Owen!”

Chakotay shrugged. “That was always a risk, but a risk I was willing to take. I judged his story of being exiled from the Federation believable and I’ve had B’Elanna keeping an eye on him.”

“Talking about my royal persona here?” came a voice at the door. “Here as requested, _my lord_.”

The incomer’s bow was deep, but there was nothing respectful in it, his filthy clothes and mocking smile adding to the insult. 

Kathryn looked closer. Sure enough, the tall blond man was the same she remembered from the Golden Gate, but stripped of the luxury and the position, he was a shadow of his former self, clinging on to a brittle shield of arrogance to hide his hurt. 

Had she been as transparent on her first days in Trebus? Her vulnerability and needs so clearly written on her face? Maybe people had regarded her like she now looked at Tom: sorry for whatever pain he had been forced to live through.

“I’m certain we agreed I would get to stay incognito,” Tom went on, “but if you all must know, I wasn’t exiled, I was demoted. Kicked out and let loose. I came to Trebus because I heard this was a nice place for outcasts and other trash. As it is. Or was, until I got dragged out of my sleep.” He glared at Harry who kept glancing back and forth between Chakotay and the man revealed as King Owen’s son, as if he was deliberating whether he was supposed to pick a side or run as far away as he could. 

Tom threw an arm around his shoulder and grinned at his confusion. “What is this about anyway? Did the Cardies get bored and decide to go on the warpath again?”

“It’s your father. He’s terminated our treaty,” B’Elanna explained.

Tom let out a long whistle. “Wow. Only nine months after the wedding. This must be a record even for Owen.” Then he glanced at Kathryn and her waistline, his eyes narrowing as she grimaced at a sharper contraction. “Or maybe this was a well-planned timing.”

Chakotay slammed his fist on the table. “Enough of this! We have a situation to deal with and we need everyone’s input. Tom, our scouts say at least three small groups are approaching Dorvan from different directions and we think this might be something Owen has been planning for some time now, some kind of a rogue force sent to weaken Trebus for a main attack later on. Do you know anything about this?”

The tensing of Tom’s shoulders revealed his knowledge before he said a thing. His first reaction, however, was to look at B’Elanna, a nameless worry passing his features.

“Yes, I’ve heard of a plan like that,” he admitted, shaking his head as if to rid a thought or a feeling. “But I never thought…”

He let his voice fade, like the mere attempt to explain was a wasted effort. Then he looked at B’Elanna again and she gestured for him to continue, something in him shifting at her support.

“You’re right,” he said, spreading his arms and taking a step forward. “They're not ordinary soldiers. Owen’s plan was to pick out young and able men from families down on their luck and to train them well, luring them with a generous allowance paid straight to their parents or wives in exchange for their sacrifice.”

The expressions around the table remained blank, and Tom gave them a sad smile, as one does to those already doomed.

“Let me put it this way. You're looking at men whose sole aim is to leave behind as much destruction in as little time as they possibly can before getting killed. That's what they’ve agreed to. A one-way mission. Even if these men survived every single battle, they’re not allowed to return. Ever.”

The heavy silence was cut by a shout from the door.

“Sir! The news has spread that the enemy troops are approaching the town, people are gathering at the castle gates!”

Chakotay looked around him. “So much for the time to prepare. Our men are ready, all we need is a plan. Now.”

A wave stronger than any so far gripped Kathryn’s belly, and she stepped back unnoticed to breathe through the pain. Words around her melded into a blur she barely registered.

“We can’t afford to lose the town, not with the winter ahead. We have to send out our troops.”

“I wouldn’t suggest opening the gates while it’s dark. Their main target may be elsewhere, but no army can resist the temptation to seize Dorvan.”

“Then again, if the troops are as small as we believe, why not invite them in? Because I agree, they would be tempted if they saw a chance, so why not use that to our advantage?”

“You mean a repetition of the Cardassian dinner? We tried that tactic once in a situation where we didn’t have much of a choice. It was a huge risk.”

“But it worked. Against a much larger army, I might add. I’m only saying we should keep that option open. That way we would be able to catch them all at once without having to chase them all over the kingdom.”

When the surge relented, Kathryn took a deep breath, determined to be heard over the debate.

“Tom, you can help.” The young man’s head jerked up. “The leaders of these groups will recognize you. You could talk to them, tell them they don’t need to die. At the very least, seeing you will make them waver and that may give us the edge to defeat them.”

“I seriously doubt anything I do or say will make any difference,” he said, voice full of self-contempt, and turned to leave.

Kathryn hurried to him and gripped his arm, looking up at him and demanding his attention. “You’re wrong. Whether you like it or not, you’ve become a hero in the eyes of many in the Federation. That battle against the Cardassians that cost you your rank was a victory, wasn't it? You led your small army into battle, outnumbered, and reclaimed the stronghold the Federation had lost decades earlier, with minimum casualties. Your bravery has earned you a reputation.”

Tom shrugged, the gesture so thoroughly defensive her chest hurt. “If you think I have anything to offer, you’re sorely mistaken. I’m not a part of this. I’m not a part of anything.”

Even if he did choose to walk away, she would not let him go so lost and alone.

“I don’t believe you. Of all the places in the world, you came to Trebus and you stayed, choosing a tavern over the comfortable life waiting for you back home. You’ve already chosen to be a part of this, and you have your reasons. We all do.” Her voice softened as Tom paled. “I’ve been on the receiving end of Owen’s disapproval too. He has a way to carve you open without a blade, doesn’t he?”

She stared at him, daring him to disagree, but after a few heartbeats, he lowered his gaze and nodded.

“Time to start earning your ale, flyboy. Don’t worry, you’ll do good,” B’Elanna whispered, then spoke to Chakotay. “I’ll inform the staff that we might be having guests.”

“Good. But if the enemy turns out stronger than we think, we need to alert the other garrisons.”

“Sir,” came a shy voice from the side of the room. “I could send out those messages.”

Chakotay regarded Harry, his thoughts probably the same as Kathryn’s, doubtful whether a responsibility as great as this could be left to a boy three months out of his father’s farm. “That’s a brave offer, son, but-”

“Sir, I can do it.” Harry insisted, somehow growing taller at the mere courage to interrupt the king. “I know my way to the dovecot, I know how to write the messages, and, frankly, no one ever notices an unarmed boy. I can do this.”

Chakotay’s lips curled into a crooked smile. “Then go. Sign the notes with the code word ‘badlands’. And stay safe.”

The next contraction came with such intensity that Kathryn couldn’t suppress her gasp. Chakotay was by her side in an instant, caressing her arms and searching her eyes for the truth he knew she would try to hide.

“Kathryn? When did this start?”

“Last night,” she panted, “but it settled enough for me to sleep.” She leaned against the table, feeling more helpless than ever. Her world was collapsing around her, spiraling into chaos, and she couldn’t even control her own body. “I’m fine. Tell me what I can do to help.” 

With a soft sound escaping his throat, Chakotay sank to his knee and took her hands to his. “Kathryn, you’ve done enough.” He looked at her, pleading. “There isn’t a single doubt in my mind that you’ll do incredible things for our people in the future, but right now, this day, there is nothing more you can do. Please, go to the keep. I need to know you’re safe, that our child is safe. Let me do my part to ensure we have that future tomorrow.”

The subsiding pain left her with no strength to object.

Chakotay stood. “Everyone, take your stations. Dalby, Bendera, lift the gates and see to it that the people find their way to the chapel, and arm every man and woman capable of holding a weapon. Ayala, you take charge of the defense inside the walls. B’Elanna and I will lead the groups to the town. Tom, you’re coming with me. At the first shade of dawn, you’re taking off your helmet and making sure everyone sees your face.”

The room was empty in seconds, only Kathryn left behind.

Legs heavy and mind in a haze, she walked to the corridor where the mood had once again changed. The earlier controlled haste of the staff had grown into urgency, the calm voices into orders and demands, the threat much more tangible and real. But without a part to play in that effort, she felt detached, as if she was floating, observing the events from afar. 

Instead of seeking safety, she found herself heading outside, drawn to the noises and the action. The main doors of the castle were wide open, people hurrying in every direction, and she joined the flow, stopping just beyond the entrance to a view that took her breath away. 

The pitch-black stillness of the night had turned into a dreamlike spectacle.

In the flickering lights of dozens of torches, armed men were gathering, their breaths steaming in the cold. Commands from their superiors echoed in the air, restless horses snorting and stamping by the stables, and at the gates, people were pouring in, fleeing from the town behind them in flames. The defensive walls were lined with bowmen, armed and ready but without a clear aim to take in the darkness.

It was not the courtyard she had come to know. It was another reality, but one she needed to see to grasp the truth about her new home. No one hesitated or panicked, because for them this existence, this struggle to survive, was a natural order of the world they lived in. Now, this was her reality too, the peace she'd thought she found in Trebus an illusion, the future uncertain in its most basic sense. 

As if to hammer home the revelation, a hooded man separated from the townsfolk and headed toward her. She wouldn’t have focused on him any further, but as he got closer, he reached under his sleeve in a motion she recognized all too well. His eyes set on her, he drew out his dagger.

She had no time to react.

A roar and a flash of metal in the moonlight, the blade clashing against a longsword wielded by a soldier who had emerged to shield her, the courtyard turning into a warzone in seconds. One slash and the sword sunk into the attacker's chest, his eyes glazing over and blood gushing from his mouth as he fell to the ground. 

"This is not the right place for you, your majesty," came a woman's voice from inside the black helmet, but before Kathryn could answer, the soldier had pushed her back inside and closed the doors behind her.

“There you are!” the Doctor called and rushed to her. “I was told the child has chosen his day to be born. Already a warrior isn’t he, eager to join the action.”

Kathryn took a few shaky steps away from the doors and the noises behind it. She turned to the Doctor, eyes wide and heart pounding.

“The... the enemy is inside the castle!”

The man’s expression was almost apologetic. “Yes, they are. This may sound insane, my lady, but I can assure you there’s nothing to worry about. Our soldiers have pulled off this strategy before, I've witnessed it myself. It’s quite fascinating how confident the enemy gets once they’re inside the castle walls, how easily they make mistakes. Come, there’s nothing we can do here.”

The lightness in his tone was incomprehensible, but drowning under a wave of pain that seemed to suck all air from her lungs, she didn't stop to ponder his reasons.

Her legs refused to obey so the Doctor had to half-carry her, but further inside they went, down the corridors and up the stairs, into the sanctuary of her chamber. Leaning onto the bedpost, resting her forehead on its solid surface, she heard the Doctor barking out orders for the maids to light the fireplace, to bring water, towels, and clean linen for the bed, but it wasn’t until Kes emerged by her side that the full picture of the situation truly dawned on her.

She was going to give birth. With a war waging outside. A war that could mean the end of everything she had built and taken for granted. The end of Trebus. The end of the men and women she had sworn to protect. The end of Chakotay.

Kes squeezed her hand and rubbed her back with firm, soothing strokes. “How are you feeling, my lady?”

“I’m fine,” she said, replying with words she had spoken so many times during her life that she didn’t even know when it was true anymore. “I’m having a child.”

Her simple statement brought out the warmest smile on Kes’ face. “So you are. And we’re here to help you. All will be well.”

How Kes always managed to radiate such calm even in the direst of circumstances was beyond her understanding. But it was a gift, nonetheless.

Kes helped her undress to her undershirt, the blessed cool easing the fire within her.

“Lie down for a moment, my lady,” the Doctor said. “I must examine the baby.”

Over the months, she had gotten used to many things done differently in Dorvan, but the thought of a man being present at her delivery had been the hardest. A priest and a doctor, sure, but still a man or, as he put it, a tool of God, sent to offer the heir the best possible start. True to his promise and easing her worries, he had been helpful all through the pregnancy, even though she hadn’t always followed his advice.

“I’m sorry I never embroidered that altar linen I promised, Doctor,” she whispered, suddenly filled with gratitude for the man and his patience with her, feeling much more emotional than an unfinished needlework was worth.

“It’s quite alright, my lady.” His features softening, he motioned that she could get up again. “Perhaps you’re not the kind of queen who embroiders altar linen. Perhaps you are destined to pledge your life to greater goals.”

She truly did hope so, but right then, unable to control neither the struggle outside nor the one within her, she didn’t feel powerful, only weak and helpless, and hated it with every breath she took. Whatever her true calling was, whatever she was meant to do in this world, she was still far from finding it.

Regardless of Kes’ encouragement and the Doctor’s prayers mixed with more practical advice, relaxing was impossible. Every contraction ripped through her body like a battle to be fought and during the breaks getting shorter and shorter, her thoughts kept rushing back to the sheer futility of the situation.

How in the world could Trebus defend itself against an enemy as powerful and merciless as the Federation? Or Cardassia for that matter? If Dorvan survived this night, there would eventually come another one just like this. Or worse. A month or a year or ten from now, someone would attack again, and they would be as vulnerable then as they were today. What kind of a future was that?

As usual, Kes knew exactly what she was thinking.

“My lady, this isn’t good for you or the baby. You have to trust our soldiers.”

“I do trust them, but the odds are next to nothing. This is madness!”

“This isn’t their first war. Each and every person here knows precisely what to do and the King would not bring a battle within the walls of the castle without a firm belief in victory. These people are survivors and they’re defending their home. We’re safe. Your baby is safe.”

At that moment, the door opened, bringing in the vivid sounds of battle, clangs and cries and thuds creating images her mind wanted to evade, but also a warrior clad in black from head to toe. A warrior Kathryn remembered from the courtyard.

Kes screamed and Kathryn startled, instinctively reaching for her dagger by the bed, but the Doctor greeted the incomer with a wide smile.

“Seven!”

“Doctor.” The warrior removed her helmet, shook her long blond hair free, then nodded to Kathryn. “Your majesty.”

All senses alert despite the woman’s earlier help, Kathryn clutched the dagger in her hand. “Who are you?”

“Seven. Your protector. I have been sent to ensure your safety.”

The woman was incredibly tall, lean, and clearly strong, her colors too pale to be native to Trebus, but still, regardless of the impressive black armor and the blood dripping from her sword, she was only one woman.

“Don’t let her looks fool you, my lady,” the Doctor said. “I don’t know what they feed their babies up in the north, but she can strike like lightning with that sword. Most effective. Under her protection, no one will harm you.”

Seven raised a brow. “True. I am most effective. As are you, Doctor. Good to see you again.”

“Good to see you too. How are things downstairs?”

"They've moved inside for dinner."

"And how is it looking?" the Doctor smirked.

"Not good for the guests."

A shiver ran down Kathryn’s spine. They were too confident, talking like there wasn’t a care in the world. The Maquis couldn’t possibly be that skilled. Or were they?

“Ah, well. Better luck next time. Perhaps you would have time to stop by after this is all over?”

“Why not. My wounds will need to be treated. I also remember you make excellent tea.”

“Absolutely. My pleasure. I could try stealing some sweets from the kitchen again too. Always nice to have something to look forward to, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is,” the woman agreed and glanced over her shoulder to the noises from the stairs. “Now if you’ll excuse me, we are getting company. I shall be back. Good luck, your majesty.”

Kathryn let her head fall forward. She did not understand this land. She didn’t understand any of it. And she was supposed to be their queen.

When the next wave came, she didn’t fight it anymore. Accepting there were moments beyond her control, moments when faith was the only path left, she let the world drift away and turned inward to the only struggle she needed to focus on. 

The pregnancy had been clouded by a constant fear lurking just beneath the joy, and the closer this day had come, the harder it had been to ignore those shadows. After losing her first child in a prolonged delivery, she knew how fast and easily everything could go wrong. But if by some blessing this time would turn out different, the child born would be much more than a fulfillment of her personal dreams. The baby was her gift to the kingdom, a gift of hope and a future, and after today, both would be sorely needed.

From behind a fog, she heard people talking to her. She inhaled and exhaled as advised, changed her position and tried to relax, reaching within to find the strength to endure. And when she was told to push, she channeled all her remaining energy and resolve to the effort, cursing the heavens and hell in equal measure in a struggle that seemed never-ending, until suddenly - it wasn’t.

Flames tearing through her, she cried out from the top of her lungs and with a few more pushes, the new life slid out of her body, ending the pain to a blissful lightness.

A new voice broke free. 

Not a whisper or a trial, but a full-blown roar, louder than the battle outside, stronger than all the suffering and despair. It was a sound soaring over the mountains and greeting the morning sun, announcing the world that a warrior had been born.

“Congratulations, my queen. She truly has her mother’s spirit.”

Tears running down her cheeks, Kathryn reached out to hold her child. Swaddled in a blanket, her tiny face scrunched up in disapproval of the cold world she’d been brought into, she was the most beautiful thing Kathryn had ever seen.

She pressed the baby against her chest and watched in awe as the stern little frown smoothed and the pursed lips parted, turning to her, seeking her warmth and closeness. At that moment, all the answers Kathryn had been searching for were laid before her, the purpose and goal of her existence finally plain to see. 

First, she would nurture this life, give her child everything she needed to thrive. 

Then she would dedicate her years to make sure no child would be born into a night like this, into darkness and fear and uncertainty of the future.

She could do that. She had to. After all, she was the queen.

But then she felt a warm gush between her legs. And another. The Doctor’s sharp question faded into a distance, her daughter’s face into a blur, and in a heartbeat, Kathryn was falling, sinking into a void.

* * *


	12. And thereunto I plight thee my troth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy ever after by [ Jane_dee01. ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jane_dee01/pseuds/Jane_dee01) Another one at the end<3
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* * *

The Golden Gate castle wasn’t as big as she remembered.

The walls that once appeared as high as mountains were really rather modest; the castle, while beautiful and loaded with memories dear to her, smaller somehow. Nothing was quite as grand as she remembered.

Nothing except for its court rituals.

“Queen Kathryn from the Kingdom of Trebus requesting an audience with Her Royal Majesty, Queen Phoebe the Wise, Leader of the Federation, Daughter of King Edward, Protector of the Western Gate, and Commander-in-Chief of the Royal Army!”

Kathryn rolled her eyes. Six years later and the Federation’s fondness for titles was still very much alive. 

But even though the entry was extravagant - two straight-backed soldiers opening the large doors as if they were the gates to heaven itself and a steward shouting the long list of titles while the nobles gathered in the great hall turned to examine the incomer as if she was their next entertainment - the scream echoing across the vast space was delightfully unadorned. 

“Katie!”

Despite the years, her sister was still her sister, spontaneous and unaffected, a free spirit even as queen, it seemed. But as Phoebe pushed herself up from the throne and wobbled down the dais, her balance compromised, Kathryn saw that she was also heavily pregnant.

“Phoebe, for Christ’s sake, sit down!” she yelled, her command making the lords and ladies gasp in horror and yet having no effect on its target. 

She sighed. Why did she even bother? Her sister had never listened to her when they were kids, so why would she start now?

To save her from any unnecessary steps, Kathryn hurried to meet her halfway but as they stood face to face, she had to conclude Phoebe was not the little sister in need of her protection anymore. Gone was the girl Kathryn had said goodbye to before leaving for Trebus, replaced with a woman, confident and relaxed, blooming in her role as both a mother and a leader. The years spent under Owen’s rule were visible on closer inspection, written in the wrinkles on her forehead and the shadows under her eyes, but the steel in her shoulders proved he hadn’t managed to break her.

“Queen Phoebe _the Wise_?” Kathryn asked, raising a brow.

Phoebe waved a hand in dismissal. “Ignore him. The titles change faster than I can keep up with. Inventing new ones makes him happy, so I indulge him.”

Laughter came easy and with their arms wrapped around each other, it was like they had never parted. The noises of the court faded into the background. Then Phoebe stepped back and took a long look at Kathryn, gaze trailing lower over her simple outfit, as if only now truly seeing her.

“Chakotay can’t afford to buy you decent dresses?” she asked, brow furrowed in confusion and worry. 

Kathryn bit her lip not to smile.

“What’s wrong with this one?” She smoothed the worn fabric, a striking contrast to Phoebe’s splendor. “It’s practical and comfortable. I like it. Besides, the gold is better spent elsewhere.”

Phoebe stared at her, eyes narrowed. “How are you, Kathryn? The truth. Have the Maquis barbarians really treated you as well as you’ve claimed in your letters?”

The demand in her voice channeled fears that had been left unanswered for years. Fears so very similar to hers. Up until his death a few months ago, Owen had blocked all communication between them. Living without knowing how the other was or whether she was even still alive had left them both in need of reassurance.

“Yes, they have,” she managed past the sudden tightness in her throat. She took her sister’s hands and looked her straight in the eyes. There was so much she wanted to tell her, but right now, she would begin with what was most important. “Trebus welcomed me with open arms and gave me more than I ever dreamed possible. I’ve found my place, Phoebe, my people, my purpose. I… I’m happy.”

Lips pursed, Phoebe regarded her, as if considering whether her sister’s words could be trusted or if she was hiding her pain again as she often did when younger. Then, just as quickly as Phoebe had fallen serious, she broke into a mischievous smile and leaned near.

“It’s the sex, isn’t it?” she whispered and took Kathryn by the waist, steering them towards the side door away from the curious gazes and gossip. “The Maquis King turned out to be a sex god and has made you howl with pleasure every night since your wedding.”

Her giggles flowed into the air, wild and free and definitely more than a little naughty, but even though the remark was crude, Kathryn couldn't deny its truth. 

Not that she howled. At least not too loudly. 

“Now. Tell me, who’s the snack?”

Kathryn mirrored Phoebe’s motion and glanced back at the officer remaining at a distance while keeping a close watch on them.

“The… what? Oh, that’s Commander Ayala, my marshal.” Recognizing the glimmer in her sister’s eyes, she added firmly, “Married. Like you are.”

Phoebe threw him a wink over her shoulder. “When has marriage ever stood in the way of a little harmless fun? Jean-Luc wouldn’t mind. He’s not the jealous type.”

“How about that impressive bump you have then? When is the baby due?”

“The doctors say within a fortnight, but I don’t trust them.” Phoebe pushed the door open and led them out to the sun. “Can you believe they advised me not to bathe or ride during the pregnancy? As if I didn’t know what was good for me after two children.”

A familiar melancholy raised its head, then subsided. “Well, sometimes they do have a point,” Kathryn said, recalling the advice of her own doctor. Sound advice she had eventually learned to follow.

“And how are your daughters? Another child on the way, perhaps?”

“Unfortunately, no. Complications in all my deliveries have ensured I can’t have a third child.”

“I’m sorry,” Phoebe simply said, and they let the silence linger, words useless in the face of a sorrow they were unable to change. 

“Come, I want to show you something.” 

Phoebe took her hand and headed towards the garden, a place where they had loved to play when they were young. Ever since their mother had died, it had laid neglected and Kathryn expected to meet a jungle with a few wildflowers surviving in an ocean of weed and overgrown bushes. Instead, they walked into a well-tended, blooming paradise.

“Phoebe, this is stunning!”

Her sister’s expression was decidedly smug. For good reasons. Hopefully, the gardeners who had done the actual labor were proud too. Studying the numerous delicate details, Kathryn couldn’t help but think if this project had kept Phoebe afloat during her marriage. If so, the result was all the more beautiful.

As they sat down on a bench by a small pond, Phoebe, true to her nature, returned to more practical matters. “A daughter as heir to the crown, huh? How does that work?”

Kathryn snorted. “Apparently, no one has a problem with it, but the attention she is getting is ridiculous. The girl is only six and she’s already received a dozen marriage proposals. In addition to our own nobles, all the nearby kingdoms have approached us: Vulcan, Betazed, Bajor. The Klingon Empire from across the sea. Even Cardassia Prime has added its offering.”

“Cardassia? The nerve of them!”

“Not that we’ll consider their marriage treaty, but I have to say this has been a good opportunity to start building something else than a new war between our kingdoms. We’ve negotiated more trade over the past two years than ever before.”

Phoebe fell silent and, for a moment, Kathryn wondered if she might have taken offense.

“You know, I do have a son…”

Once a queen, always a queen.

“Phoebe, please. I know you do, and he’s a fine boy, I’m sure, but let’s give our children time to grow first, shall we? Chakotay and I are not betrothing our daughter to anyone for at least ten years. Besides, she’ll have a say in the decision, like I was given with Justin, and seeing how much she likes spending time with Ayala’s boys, I have my suspicion on how this all might play out.”

With a brief nod, Phoebe’s thoughts drifted on. “Mother and father did give us more freedom than usual. Not sure what good that brought us, though. Just got our hopes up that life would actually care about our wishes.”

The sudden bitterness in Phoebe’s voice, so uncharacteristic of her, spoke louder than anything else of the pain she had been forced to live through. The comparison to Kathryn’s own path, the love, respect, and security she had been gifted, was unbearable.

“Oh, but it did! Think about it. Without their example, how would we have known what love looks like? Or a decent marriage? Without the confidence they planted in us, how would we have had the courage to take the chance and reach out for something better? How would we have even survived the hell of our first marriages?”

Phoebe looked at her for a long moment. “You’ve changed, sister.”

Kathryn glanced down, smiling to her ears. “Maybe a little. For the better, I hope.”

“Definitely for the better.” Phoebe leaned back, placed her palms on her belly, and turned her face to the sun. “You used to steal my dolls.”

In silence as light as the air around them, they grinned at the simple joy of being together again, enjoying the warmth of the summer after a long winter.

“May I ask how Owen died, exactly?” Kathryn finally broke the silence. “You didn’t say much in the letter. Did you, by any chance…?”

“Did I follow my sister’s example and arrange for an early departure for my beloved husband? I wish I’d been that brave, but no. His death was a natural one. A common cold that eventually tore his spirit from this world after he had whined and withered away in his chamber for eighteen days.”

Kathryn closed her eyes, savoring the picture Phoebe had painted. A cruel man like Owen would have deserved worse, but she could live with this knowledge too. An insignificant death for an insignificant man. How it must have gnawed at him to be felled by something so ordinary. 

“I have to admit I didn’t expect Tom to renounce the crown, especially not in my favor,” Phoebe continued. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“I’ll give you one guess.”

“Love?”

“What else? And an ambition that apparently touched him deeper than the prospect of returning to the Federation as king. They moved to the South-East garrison a few years ago. B’Elanna trains the troops and serves as second-in-command while Tom… well, he wants to fly.”

“Fly? Like a bird?” Phoebe didn’t try to hide her amusement. “Is he alright?”

Kathryn laughed. “I saw one of his attempts, wings made of silk and wooden sticks. The best I can say is that he didn’t die. Absolutely reckless, if you ask me, but he truly believes he can design a device that would allow him to glide across the skies like a hawk. A useful invention if he succeeds and, anyway, who am I to tell him it can’t be done? It’s his dream, so let him chase it.”

Phoebe shook her head, the gesture like a reflection of Kathryn’s own feelings when she was still a newlywed bride in a kingdom strange to her. “I do not understand your people.”

A surge of pride spread through her, followed by a twinge of longing for the rough land sheltered by snow-capped mountains. “Neither did I, for a very long time. Now, I can’t seem to remember why I didn’t understand. But, yes, Trebus certainly is… different.”

A shy hand reached out to take hers on the bench.

“Will you stay until the baby is born? Please say yes.”

“Of course. I’ll be there.”

∞

After a very lively feast Kes and Neelix had arranged in honor of her return home and what seemed like an equally lively hour in the children’s room offering and receiving some much-needed closeness, Kathryn entered the master bedchamber to find Chakotay in the armchair by the fire.

“The kids fell asleep already?” Chakotay asked, lifting his gaze from the book he’d been reading.

“Not a chance. They were too full of stories they wanted to share with me to settle down, but Sam is with them now.” She closed the door and turned to Chakotay. “From what they told me, it sounds like you’ve had an exciting two months while I was away. Did you know that Ayala’s boys have been teaching the girls how to throw knives?”

Only a hint of dimples revealed he had noticed her tone. “I did. They’re getting good at it too. For Sekaya, it’s mainly a welcome distraction from her studies, but Shannon seems to have a real knack for target practice. We should order her a bow and take her to the archery range.”

Kathryn folded her arms. “At the age of four?”

But try as she might, her disapproval wasn’t convincing, memories of her own childhood taking away the sharpest edge. Who was she to judge? Throwing knives had been harmless fun compared to the other adventures she had gotten into when adults weren’t witnessing, adventures all the more appealing the greater the risks. Besides, better archery than sword fights.

“It’s a good thing they didn’t tell you about their little riding trip to the lake, then,” Chakotay let slip, then returned to the book on his lap, trying hard to hide his grin. “We didn’t have a chance to talk much about your travel. How was your sister?”

Kathryn glanced at him. He was turning the pages and making conversation, but a warm tingle on her skin told her something in the air had shifted.

Oh, how she loved this game.

“Relieved. Happy. Her usual shameless self.” Kathryn sat down, lifting the hem of her dress to peel down her stockings. From the corner of her vision, she noticed Chakotay’s focus straying to her bare legs. “I think marrying Jean-Luc was a wise decision, his army and position in the southern region strengthen her rule. He also seems like a level-headed man, quite the diplomat, and well aware of the kind of woman he married. And Phoebe, she feels more balanced with him. Although, she did keep flirting with Ayala up until the delivery. Poor man didn’t know which way to be.”

As she stood and started untying her dress with deliberate slowness, he finally closed the book and placed it on the table, his dark eyes following her moves but his voice remaining as casual as ever. “I can imagine. Another beautiful and quick-witted daughter of King Edward, coming on to him armed with blue eyes and a smile to die for, right?” 

Kathryn threw him a glare, but his attention was fixed on the skin and curves revealed from beneath her dress. As if he hadn’t seen every inch of her a million times before. 

“Did you have to work hard for them to agree to the trade treaty?”

“Not really. They both probably think we’re crazy to build a route to the east and openly welcome strangers to our kingdom, but since the risk is ours and they just get to enjoy the imported goods… The coffee beans made a huge impression on Phoebe. Said she’d never tasted anything so divine and insisted we deliver her more as fast as possible. Jean-Luc wasn’t as enthusiastic, but just to see his wife contented, he offered all the wine from the southern vineyards we wanted in exchange. I’d say they’re both curious to explore new possibilities too.”

“Good. Not that the route will be big enough for an army, but they’re not completely wrong. We are a little crazy.” Chakotay smiled and looked down at his hands. “So, how did it feel to be back at the Golden Gate after all this time?”

The last strand of hair freed from her braiding, Kathryn paused to consider both his tone and his question. “Funny you should ask. It was the strangest experience. Everything was precisely the way they used to be: the town and the castle, the strict order, the complicated ceremonies, and the lavish dinners, I even remembered many of the servants and talked to them, but then again, nothing felt like… mine anymore.”

Chakotay nodded but kept his eyes downcast. “I was a bit worried you might get caught up in the splendor and decide to stay there instead of returning to plain old Dorvan.”

He wasn’t entirely serious, she could sense it, but during some dark moment while she was away, no matter how irrational, the thought had clearly crossed his mind. That she might compare the two different kingdoms and wish for her old life back.

“Oh, Chakotay.” 

How could she make him see how utterly mistaken he was? How could she describe the overwhelming rush of emotion when riding back over the mountains and seeing Trebus open before her, or the calm that had filled her as she’d breathed in the crisp air knowing with every beat of her heart that she was exactly where she was meant to be in the world? 

She walked to him, pulled him to her, then cupped his face and looked him deep in the eyes. “The Golden Gate is magnificent, yes, but it’s not Dorvan. I was nothing but an outsider visiting a place I once knew, a place that now holds little more than the memories of a time long gone. Even though it was wonderful to see Phoebe again, to see she’s doing well, I couldn’t wait to get back here. Back home.”

A brilliant, dimpled smile spread on his face, filling her chest with a familiar lightness. He curled his arms around her waist and drew her near, kissing her forehead and inhaling her scent as if she was the air he needed to breathe. “I’ve missed you, Kathryn.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she sighed, shivering in delight as his hands caressed her back and his lips moved over her eyelids, cheek, and mouth down to kiss her neck, renewing the physical bond between them with ease, the promise of his hard length pressed firmly against her belly. “You and your scepter.”

The lips nibbling her neck froze.

“Kathryn…” He lifted his head and searched her eyes, disbelief in his voice. “Did you just call my cock a scepter?”

The joy bubbling in her heart burst out in unrestrained laughter. She had also missed teasing him.

“Well, it is the symbol of your power and authority, is it not? Your infinite masculinity that will lead me to the heights of eternal bliss?”

“You insolent woman,” Chakotay growled, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and fire burning in his dark eyes. “To bed. Now.”

With one swift move, he scooped her up in his arms and she screamed, then laughed even louder as he threw her on the bed like she weighed nothing at all. Still giggling, she sat up and leaned against the headboard, watching him make quick work of his clothes. She licked her lips and hummed, letting her appreciation show. He truly was a gorgeous man, all muscle and bronze skin, and with his erection standing tall and mighty, the sight brought the steady pulse at her core into liquid heat.

Once undressed, he took her by the ankles and pulled her lower, a wicked smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “I should teach you some respect.”

“Yes, please,” she breathed as he nudged her legs apart and bent to run his tongue along her folds.

“Or maybe I should make you beg,” he continued and moved up, leaving her clit throbbing for more attention. He settled between her thighs, covering her small body with his, and she sighed in contentment. Feeling him on her, strong, solid, and primed for action, both soothed her and excited her. These demonstrations of his power had come to mean a prelude to ecstasy and she widened her legs, then hooked her ankles behind his back.

Ignoring her signals, he rubbed his length on her slick sex and captured her lips in a deep kiss without a hurry in the world. Her restlessness building up, she tried to shift so she could slip his length between her legs and inch him inside her, but trapped under his weight and size, she could hardly even breathe right.

Next she knew, he had taken her wrists and pinned them above her head, his kisses growing more demanding. The heat in her swelled and spread, turning her need into an ache. 

“Didn’t you promise to obey me, my love? Till death us depart?”

She sucked his bottom lip between her teeth and bit down, relishing his shiver and groan. “I didn’t promise you anything. I was too busy thinking about my seven knives and what I would do to you if you misbehaved,” she grinned. “But you, my dear husband, promised to love and cherish me. And give me lots of orgasms.”

She could feel his smile on her skin. 

“I can’t recall the wedding vows mentioning anything about orgasms,” he murmured, trailing light kisses along her jawline to her neck and the sensitive spot below her ear always waiting for him. “But I do love you, Kathryn. I love you so much that I think I’ll cherish you and your sweet body all through the night before I let you come.”

Her pulse sped up.

He could do that. His self-restraint was miraculous, far better than hers ever was. But even though his command meant bliss beyond this world, tonight, after weeks without his touch, delaying the pleasure was not an option. She was starving.

“I have a better idea. Why don’t you push that gorgeous cock of yours inside me and fuck me with all your majestic strength, and we’ll see how many peaks we can reach before dawn. Tomorrow, we can try lessons of obedience.”

He didn’t need much convincing.

“Mmm. I like the sound of that.” He shifted just enough to align the tip of him at her entrance and she sighed in anticipation. “Although somehow, I’m not entirely sure which one of us will end up giving that lesson.”

As he slid inside her, filling her entire world, she had to admit she didn’t know either. But it didn’t matter. Whatever tomorrow would bring, whatever journey they decided to take, with him, as always, everything would turn out amazing.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> There are no words big enough to express my gratitude for Caladenia for standing by my side all through this endeavor; betaing, supporting, whipping me forward. Thank you so, so much, O Wise One! I would not have managed without you. Another incredible source of support were the ladies in Discord; all the talented manippers who kept creating these gorgeous, inspiring JC pictures and everyone who gently but persistently kept poking me for more chapters. Love you. And last but never least, everyone who read this story and left kudos and comments. My deepest, most humble thank you. It’s a true blessing to receive so much attention and appreciation for writing something I thoroughly enjoyed. Hope you enjoyed too<3 


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